Transcending the Bull
by Goddess JacquesPierre
Summary: HD Slash. With a cherry on top.
1. Default Chapter

Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 1  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: If they were mine, Harry Potter wouldn't be a kid's book. Capish?  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism  
  
"Transcending the Bullshit"  
  
-The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test  
  
Draco Malfoy was having a bad day, though it was the last before vacation. He had just recieved an owl stating that his presence at the Manor was unwelcome. No, scratch that. It was more than merely unwanted, bad enough in itself. He had been strictly forbidden to return over Christmas vacation. Draco Malfoy was not, nor ever will be, a person who takes to rejection kindly. He was upset, to say the least, when his name was forcefully added to the list of those staying at Hogwart's. To make matters worse, the only other people staying were Potter, four Weasleys, Granger, and a group of seven Hufflepuff first-years. He left the breakfast table with less grace than his norm (though it was considerably more than the rest of us have the priveledge of posessing) and stormed up to his dorm.  
  
He did not reappear all day, missing Potions, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy, possibly his favorite classes.  
  
***  
  
How could my father do this?   
  
It's Christmas, and I'm not going home.  
  
Never the love I once had, I grew up and I'm not cute anymore.  
  
Even a family with a Dark side should have some unity.  
  
Invite me home to punish me, at least we're together, beat me, whip me, scald me, hurt me, at least it's contact. You always did, but it wasn't my fault I was Muggle- born. I hurt others to conceal the hurt I felt inside, but I was never rewarded.  
  
My parents adopted me for my golden hair, my pudgy cheeks, my blood-red lips of yesteryear.  
  
I've grown up. My face turned slim, my body lithe but small, my hair silver. No longer a spot of light, I have blended. I do not fit with rooms full of antique crystal and varnished cabinets. I do not match with the black robes of wizarding. I will never fully merge with this magic. I may have been brought up in its strict tradition as a plaything, a game of torture. You never thought I'd turn out magical, did you? You'd never think that my Potions skill would surpass my teacher's, and it does-- but you'd never believe it. That's why he likes me, you know. I didn't deserve the beatings for Snape being nice to me, I wouldn't suck up if I was paid, just like you taught me. Not that I need the money, heir of two rich asses like you. Schooled in the art of cruelty, meticulously trained to be scornful of my own birth. You planned it this way, didn't you? So I'd end up friendless and alone, without anyone to love or be loved by.  
  
And it would be ten times worse if you knew I was bi.  
  
***  
  
It was after Draco's second day of complete absence that Harry noticed it. He mentioned it nonchalently to Hermione at breakfast the next morning. "Herm?"  
  
She "mmmm"ed distractedly, halfway through a pleasingly stout book entitled "Anciente Magick: Ye Olde Guide to The Arte of Symboles ande Connotationes".  
  
"Where's Malfoy?"  
  
"I'd think you'd be glad to have him gone."  
  
"But he isn't gone, his name's on the list of people staying. How come we haven't seen him at any meals?"  
  
"He's probably getting food from the kitchens. Why are you so concerned?" Hermione replied sensibly.  
  
"Good point..." Harry ran off to tickle the pear.  
  
In the kitchen, Dobby swore he hadn't seen the youngest Malfoy. "I is not seeing Draco Malfoy, sir, no, not ever!" The elf's ears bobbled in emphasis. "NEVER!"  
  
Harry stumbled backwards from the force of the tirade. "Thank-you, Dobby!" He ran out of the still life, leaving a bemused house-elf in his wake.  
  
***  
  
Where is he?  
  
Why was he so upset?  
  
Why did he skip potions?  
  
Why do I care?  
  
***  
  
The hunger and cold isn't enough. The soft pain I subject my naked body to will not suffice to mask my inner hurt. It will never be enough. I need sharp pain, pain, a wolf to knaw at me. I'll pace in my empty dorm room for eternity before I can quench the knife stabbing me from the inside. I need to match it somehow... match it... match it...  
  
***  
  
At three o'clock in the morning, the slim blonde woke suddenly from a fitful nap on the floor. He instantly berated himself for allowing his body that rest, that comfort. His eyes were glazed and wild, his face flushed. He went to the wardrobe and drew out a starched, pristine white cotton robe. Feverishly, he spoke. "I can't do it anymore. I can't."  
  
He slid the robe over his bare skin. It was generally uncomfortable, not molding to his form. "I'll never hold out for the slow route. I'm not strong enough." He turned to a small chest by his bed. "You formed it that way, didn't you, Father? Common muggle-born Draco, the weakling. It wasn't Mother's fault she turned out infertile. It was yours, but you aren't intellegent enough to grasp that she'd never become pregnant with the way you raped her. Didn't you know that knives do not enhance fertility? You didn't keep her well enough. It was your idiocy that began her illness. And then you were forced to adopt me, but you weren't happy. Whip me, saying how horribly common I was. Cruciatus, taunting me I'd never be able to do do magic. I grew up with magic, the worst of it. You hardened me to it, but kept me too weak to break free. I'll break free now, though. You'll see."  
  
He roughly shoved the lid up, splintering the fragile carving. A sliver of wood imbedded deep into his palm, and he laughed hollowly. "You never guessed I could die, did you? Train me to be invincible and soft, so soft I'd never commit suicide. A toy for your sadistic enjoyment. Never thought you'd spawn a masochist." He grabbed two thick, silver armbands from the pile of ceremonial jewellry. "And I'll die with style, cold splendor that you'll never achieve. You'll die at the hands of Voldemort in a cold, dark, musty cellar. The rats and roaches will eat your body. You will never be mourned. I will be mourned. I will shock the wizarding world and make a headline. I can see it: 'Young magic student found dead in a pile of bloody robes." I'll be beautiful, as I always am. You never could stand it, how beautiful I turned out to be. You picked me for family resemblance. You were so handsome then, pale and cold and handsome. You never considered the fact that you could go old and gray, while I bloomed into my prime, sexy as hell and better-looking than you ever were." He snapped two snug silver bracelets onto his wrists. "And now, I'll overcome the lies you told me. You told me I was good-for-nothing, stupid, ugly, dumb, unattractive." He picked up a quill and parchment. "But I learned I didn't have to listen to your lies. The shit you fed me to make me feel bad and you feel good." He began to write, his calligraphy looping over the parchment in perfect curves. "They'll all weep when they find the true Draco Malfoy, a boy that was misunderstood and abused by his father. They'll read my dying phrase: 'died for lack of love'. They'll read my notebook." He snatched up a heavy leather volume. "I recorded it all. When they investigate, they'll find it's true. A drop of Veritaserum in the wine you love so much, and it will all spill out. You'll never escape. Never." He strode to the door, his legs carrying him gracefully out of the stone halls of the dungeons and onto the snow-coated lawn with his parchment and diary.   
  
His voice echoed into the dark night, rebounding off the trees in the Forbidden Forest: "I'm transcending your bullshit, Father! The muggle book said they did it with drugs, but that didn't work. I found the way, Father, the way no one else has ever found!" He dropped his book next to the lake and drew an ivory-handled knife from his pocket. "I'm transcending the bullshit..." He sliced into his forearm with the knife. It did not hurt. He hurled the knife, wet with crimson, scented iron, into the snow, and raked long fingernails over the scrape, drawing blood, and blood, and blood, and blood... "I'm transcending the bullshit..." A scarlet waterfall stained the stiff cloth he wore. "Transcending the bullshit... transcending the bullshit..."  
  
His voice trailed off and was swallowed whole by the trees of the Forbidden Forest as his concious ebbed away onto the snow with his blood.   
  
Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 2  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to the prestigious JK, who has managed to keep the shaggable boys from doing so thus far. Applaud or curse her self-control, it's up to you.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism  
  
"I've looked at love from both sides now/ From in and out/ And still somehow/ It's love's illusion I recall/ I really don't know love/ at all."  
  
-Clouds   
  
Joni Mitchell  
  
Harry stared pensively out the window of Gryffindor tower, watching the landscape illuminated by the half-moon. It was after two in the morning, but he couldn't sleep. It was almost lulling to watch the lap wind-driven waters against the snowy banky of the lake.  
  
He was mearly nodding when a sudden vision jerked him awake: a blonde boy in a pale robe that didn't shift as he glided over the snow. Harry wondered briefly if he was wearing skis under his outfit, but the footprints showed each toe in perfect detail, all ten of them.  
  
Harry was about to placidly watch the figure when he suddenly realised that those footprints belonged to someone who wasn't wearing shoes when it was about three degrees below zero outside. He sat up, now curious.   
  
An old Japanese proverb says that bad luck comes in threes. Harry found out that the same rule applies to the things that come to shock you in the middle of the night, because he recieved the third one monents after the second.  
  
A knife blade glittered eerily by virtue of lunar illuminescence. Harry reached absently for his snow boots. When the knife cut into one pale arm, Harry shoved the boots over his socks, grabbed three cloaks, threw the invisibility one over him, and glanced out the window, where the figure was tearing at his own arm. Harry's eyes blurred in horror as the crimson sploch began to obscure his vision. He hastily adjusted his glasses and burst out of the Fat Lady, who was disgruntled at such a rude awakening. Without opening her eyes, she called down the hall: "Eh, leave a portrait to her sleep, why don't you!"   
  
Blood pounding in his ears, Harry didn't hear her as he tore down flights of steps and out the door.  
  
By the time he got there, the blonde was slumped over in a dead faint. Upon closer inspection, the boy was strangely beautiful. The pale unity of the moon, the snow, and the boy's white robe, pale skin, silver jewelry, and blonde hair was stunning contrast to the dark, dead, black winter night. Harry wrapped his spare cloak around the other boy, wondering who he was. The thought crossed his mind that he might be Draco, but then he glanced at the parchment lying on the snow next to the boy. 'Died for lack of love'. Definitely not Draco, Harry thought. He also picked up the leather-bound volume lying by the boy. He'd read it later, Harry decided, it was far more important to get this guy cleaned up. He lifted the parchment and the volume after gathering the boy into his arms. He was surprisingly light, which worried Harry. The boy desparately needed to gain some weight before he starved to death.  
  
Some gut feeling told Harry not to go to Madame Pomfrey, so he headed towards the Prefect's bathroom after he re-entered the school.   
  
When he arrived the door, he prayed to whatever deity that might be looking after either the boy or him that the password hadn't changed. "Pine fresh," he hissed urgently, and the door swung rather drowsily open, as if it hadn't really listened to the password.  
  
It worked for Harry. He walked in and turned on the single plain faucet. Excessive amounts of bubble bath would only irritate the boy'd injuries, he reasoned.   
  
He stacked five towels and lay the boy on top of them gently while he closed the door, then he rushed back to the boy's side, where he promptly did a double-take of the events of the last twenty minutes or so.  
  
"Let me get this straight. I was looking out the window when a boy walked outside in bare feet and started to slash at his arm with a knife. Then, I ran outside, wondered who he was, figured out who he wasn't, gave up, and instantly carried him to the *prefect's* bathroom, god knows why." Harry spoke aloud, then laughed at his own words. "Gosh, I'm going batty, aren't I? This is probably all a dream." He shook his head. "Even if it is a dream, I'll feel pretty bad if I don't fix him up."   
  
Blushing profusely, Harry stripped off the boy's robe. He wasn't wearing anything underneath, which startled Harry, who merely blushed harder.  
  
He lifted the boy again and snatched one of the towels. He tied it to two of the taps as sort of a seat to put the boy in, then set the boy down again.   
  
After he shed his own robes, Harry slid into the water. It wasn't as deep as he remembered; he could stand comfortably now. He reached for a towel, wet it, and began to stroke it over the boy's bloody arms, wondering what was so terrible that it could make someone, anyone, do this to themselves. As the blood began to run away from the boy, Harry noticed it was better than it looked, though it wasn't good at all. He decided that whoever it was needed counselling more than medical attention. He didn't even need stitches; the single incision and jagged-edged fingernail rakes were already beginning to form scabs. Harry was trailing the towel over the boy's body methodically, the rhythm beginning to lull him to sleep. Shaking himself firmly awake, he finished cleaning the still-unconcious boy up and dried them both off.   
  
Not bothering with robes for either of them and too tired to work the clasps if he had tried to put them on, Harry lifted the boy and covered them with the invisibility cloak before rushing up to Gryffindor tower.  
  
The Fat Lady refused to be roused easily. After Harry poked her for the umpteenth time, she crankily spoke, not bothering to look at him. "What is it?"  
  
Harry blinked. "Uh... velvet night?" At the password, the portrait swung open, so Harry took the opportunity and let the Fat Lady go back to sleep as he carried the boy up the stairs.  
  
He tucked the boy into his own bed, then realised that Ron would be suspicious if he used Seamus's bed. He crawled under the covers and shut the curtains, sealing, locking, and soundproofing them with a charm Hermione had taught him earlier that year, when Neville's snoring and Dean's nocturnal lavatory visits were keeping him awake.  
  
Sleepily, he curled up to the blonde, not even putting on pyjamas, just attracted to the source of warmth.  
  
The next morning, Harry was woken by a loud fluttering of wings. Hedwig had flown through the top of his four-poster to deliver a letter. He caught the parchment automatically as she looked for somewhere to roost. He was unrolled it and began to read.  
  
"Dear Harry,  
  
Don't worry about it, lots of wizards are bisexual. However, quite a few of them are still afraid to come out. Voldemort was reputedly very intolerant of homosexuals, even for him. Keep your chin up!  
  
Your godfather,  
  
Sirius."  
  
Harry smiled. So it wasn't abnormal after all.   
  
A sudden angry hoot from Hedwig made him look up. The owl, looking disgruntled, rose from her perch on the blonde's arm and flew out the window. The blonde stirred. "Am I in Heaven or Hell?" He said, drowsily.  
  
Harry stared.  
  
The blonde's eyes fluttered open. Silver. "Oh, no, I'm dreaming. But if I'm asleep, I'll die soon enough. My body won't stand the cold. I thought I'd stopped having these goddamn wet dreams about you, though!"  
  
Harry's eyes widened. It looked so much like--no, it couldn't be. There could be two people with this strange, pale colouring. It was coincidence that this boy had the pale skin, silver-blonde hair, and overall look of his nemisis. Besides, the boy next to him was far too lovely to be someone he'd despised for that many years. And lastly, there was no way in Hell, Heaven, or earth, or anywhere else, that Draco Malfoy had had wet dreams about him. "Who are you?" he asked the pale apparition at his side.  
  
"Draco Malfoy. Don't play dumb, Potter, it doesn't suit you at all."   
  
Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 3  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: Does my writing style look even remotely similar to JK's? We all know who wrote the books, right?   
  
All: Yes!  
  
Me: Then I didn't, right?  
  
All:Yes!  
  
Me: Then they're not mine, right?  
  
All: Yes!  
  
Me: Damn! ...I mean, don't sue me, I know they're JK's.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism.  
  
Thanks to all the lovely reviewers. I didn't realise that the muggleborn Draco was new (conciously). It's so nice that you said that! *smile* You really make this worthwhile, even though it's new and flowing pretty well.  
  
"...we made love, I suppose inevitably. Sex can do wonderful things for fear."  
  
-"I Sad Seen Castles" by Cyntihia Rylant, "Cicada" magazine, volume one, issue four.  
  
Harry's face contorted. "Uh... Draco... it isn't a dream."  
  
Draco smiled condescendingly. "You always say that. If it isn't, then why are we naked, in bed, together?"  
  
"Because I rescued you!" Harry told him, mending the hole Hedwig had made in his four-poster with a flick of his wand to block the noise.  
  
"And why would you rescue your arch-enemy? Or even call him by his first name?"  
  
"Because-- because-- oh, hell-- you were beautiful. Lying in the snow like a fallen angel, silver pale--"  
  
"Okay, that's enough, Harry, I know I'm sexy without you trying to be eloquent. Leave that to those who have talent and experience, will you? Stop trying to prove it with fragments from my subconcious mind."  
  
"But--"  
  
"But nothing, dear boy. If I'm going to have this dream again, at least follow the script properly."  
  
"So why are *you* using my first name?" Harry challenged.  
  
"Because you're about to shag me, that's why."  
  
"I'm what?"  
  
"Do you need everything spelled out for you?"  
  
"Yes, I do!" Harry replied peevishly. "If you've had this dream before, I haven't. D'you take Divination?"  
  
"Goodness, no. I could hardly stand that old bat and her lectures about the 'inner eye' and 'psychic aura'. Why do you mention it? Did she see an irresistably hot Slytherin in your tea leaves?"  
  
Harry snorted. "In your dreams."  
  
"This is one, remember?"  
  
"Why do you dream about me, of all people, anyways?"  
  
Draco was taken aback. "What, don't you know? You're perhaps not quite the peice of eye-candy I am, but you certainly are a looker. You underestimate yourself, my dear."  
  
Harry blinked. "But I'm a guy!"  
  
"So am I! But you're *obviously* at least bi, and I'm nearer to 'gay' on the continuum myself."  
  
Crossly: "I'm *not* swishy."  
  
"Of course you're not, dear."  
  
"My mirror said that to me once."  
  
"Oh, really?" Draco was suddenly delighted. "That's so cute!" He ruffled Harry's tousled hair.  
  
Harry looked even more cross, if that was possible. "OK, so you're dreaming about shagging me?"  
  
"Well, among things. There are other things I do to you, too. One of my favorites involved a tray of sliced peaches, vanilla ice cream, a thin silk rope, and a feather."  
  
Harry blinked. "What usually happens next?"  
  
Draco leaned over Harry and kissed him. "That. Except you usually don't ask so many questions."  
  
Harry let out a small whimper, wondered where it came from, and decided to ignore it. "So, how do I prove to you that this isn't a dream?"  
  
Draco grinned. "Make me scream."  
  
Harry gave Draco a decisively odd look. "Why?"  
  
"One, because if I'm screaming, you're doing something particularly nice-feeling--"  
  
Harry rolled his eyes and remained silent.  
  
"And two because I've been spelled to remain silent during dreams. As a child, I used to scream very loudly when I had nightmares, and Father decided that it would reflect badly on him if I woke the castle by screaming. Are you quite satisfied, and can we get on with it already?"  
  
"One more thing: why would you have nightmares? You don't seem like a monster-under-the-bed-trying-to-eat-me-up sort."  
  
Draco's face darkened. "You don't want to know the answer to that, Potter."  
  
"Tell me anyway."  
  
"I'm muggle-born--" (Harry gawped) "and my father adopted me as a torture toy. I have some fairly unpleasant memories to build nightmares on. It was especially bad when I got my letter. He hadn't wanted magic out of me."  
  
It made sense, in some demented way, to Harry. "Okay, since you're so determined to have your way, I'll let you believe it's a dream." He sighed and reclined back on the pillows.  
  
Draco's lips curved into a rather seductive smirk that refused to stay put, instead, it played around his mouth in such a way that drew attention to itself. The effect was lost of Harry. His eyes were closed. Giving up, Draco leaned over, decided against leaning, and collapsed onto Harry's bare chest.  
  
"Oof." Harry told him, rather unconvincingly.  
  
Draco gave him a Look. "What do you think you're doing?"  
  
Harry sighed again. "I *was* going to go back to sleep," he replied petulantly, allowing his lower lip to jut out just the slightest bit, turning himself into a picture worthy of pity, a pat on the head, and a doggy treat for sheer adorableness.  
  
Draco wasn't fooled. He dipped his head and nibbled gently on said bottom lip.  
  
Harry tilted his head back, remembered who was doing the nibbling, and shoved Draco off. "What the hell!"  
  
"This is the way the dream goes. Stop playing hard-to-get, it's quite obvious you'll enjoy this just as much as I will."  
  
That gave Harry pause. The blonde, unfortunately for Harry's rational mind, had a point.  
  
While Harry was mulling that over, Draco maneuvered himself in closer to Harry, trailing a hand over the other boy's chest.  
  
Harry was snapped from his thoughts with a jolt, which was not half so unpleasant as he might have expected. A smile began to sneak over Harry's lips.  
  
Draco noticed it. "See, you are enjoying it."  
  
The smile cursed and retreated, shaking a figurative fist at Draco. Draco took the point, then wondered why he was communicating with a smile. He gave up wondering and decided that he liked it on Harry, so he'd ignore it and hope it would settle there.  
  
Harry looked at Draco.  
  
Draco looked back. He realigned his body with Harry's, then started a slow, throbbing kiss to a low beat he cast into the air.  
  
Silver eyes fluttered shut as thier owner began to pur himself into the kiss. Green eyes followed shortly after Harry, quite against his will, gave up trying to resist and let himself enjoy Draco's lips.  
  
After a bit, Draco broke the kiss. "See, you're liking it enough. You always do."  
  
Harry's eyes were a bit glazed. He didn't say anything.  
  
***  
  
By the time it was all over, both boys had screamed.  
  
Draco looked at Harry. "It's not a dream."  
  
Harry shook his head no.  
  
Draco stared, ruffled. "Damn."  
  
Harry looked away.  
  
Draco grabbed a cloak, hastily threw it about his shoulders, and ran from the room.   
  
Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 4  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: JK wrote it. D'you think she'd sell the rights to me? Maybe if I was having a *really* good dream, but not in life. Therefore, I don't own it. Please don't sue?  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism.  
  
"But they wouldn't listen-- or watch us dance! Our stories were wasted, and so were our songs."  
  
-Version of Cinderella  
  
"And then I saw it. A circle. A circle where dancing feet had worn away the moss. A circle whose outer edge was a hand's-breadth away from the crumbling cliff edge."  
  
-Visitors, by Sarah Ellis, Cicada magazine, Volume 3, Number 4.  
  
Harry was extremely confused. He had just rescued his nemesis, *slept* with said nemisis, and then, if it wasn't enough then, gone all out and SHAGGED his nemisis!  
  
The issue was not the two-boys thing. The issue was that it was Malfoy--Draco? They'd been fighting since forever, but was it time to reconsider and lay aside old grudges?  
  
He closed his eyes and flopped back on the pillow to think.  
  
***  
  
Draco was just as confused. Why had Harry done that? Why?  
  
***  
  
My wet dream and nemisis in more ways than one  
  
Since second year!  
  
Rescued me-- when I didn't want to be rescued.  
  
Death-- it was all I wanted.   
  
Pain to block out my mental suffering.  
  
I was nearly there,  
  
away from it all,  
  
out from under the shit  
  
that held me back,  
  
tons of it,  
  
brown and oozing and putrid and decaying,  
  
And I came out.  
  
His arms around me, snuggled up to me--  
  
Do I have a reason to live?  
  
He can't like me-- that had to be pity sex  
  
But Potter-- Harry-- doesn't seem like the type.  
  
Stand up to your foes, brave Lion,  
  
But stand up in which way?  
  
Does he get off on beating Voldemort?  
  
Fight them, love them--  
  
I don't know where he stands.  
  
I don't know where I stand  
  
To be or not to be,  
  
To live or not to live,  
  
Muggle hauntings,  
  
classic, I suppose,  
  
painted against the bloody arm Potter cleaned  
  
And I don't know if I have the willpower,  
  
either to go on and find out  
  
Or die.  
  
I'll just sleep.  
  
***  
  
Harry tossed under his comforter, and finally decided to stop trying to second-guess Draco's mind. It wasn't necessary, Draco should know himself. Just ask, he must mean something more than a fuck-toy, because Draco was acting as in a dream.   
  
After a scribbled question, Harry tied a scrap of paper-bag brown parchment to Hedwig's leg, shooed her out the window, and emerged from his bed to wait.  
  
***  
  
"Draco--  
  
what was last night?  
  
was it just because?  
  
-HP"  
  
***  
  
Ron was waiting for Harry. "Took you long enough!"  
  
Harry blinked tiwice, clearing sleep from his eyes. "What? What time is it?"  
  
Ron smiled. "Three PM! Sleepyhead!" He gave Harry a soft punch on his bicep.  
  
Harry smiled back. "I guess I missed breakfast, then, eh?"  
  
"Oh, and that's not the least of it! Fred and George were out prowling last night. Suddenly, Snape dragged them into a broom closet-- you know the one, next to the stairs on the fourth floor?"  
  
Harry grinned, startled. "You're kidding."  
  
"Nope! See, what happened was..."  
  
Harry linked arms with Ron. "Tell me all about it."  
  
***  
  
The snowy white owl pecked hard on the pale forehead of a boy tangled in sleep. "Go away, Terence, not today," he muttered sleepily. Hedwig kept pecking.  
  
Draco rolled up in bed, peevish. "Wha--" He saw the owl and calmed. "Oh." He untied the scrap of paper. The torn edge was soft under his finger. "Thanks," he told her. She stayed, as if waiting for an answer.  
  
Draco dutifully flipped the parchment over and read it.  
  
Then he read it again.  
  
And a third time, for good measure.  
  
He blinked, then selected a roll of pale pink, faded parchment. A pair of scissors, a bit old, perhaps, musty, black handles, served to snip off the amount Draco thought he would need.  
  
He paused to consider. What was his connection with the Boy who Lived? Did he feel anything for him?  
  
He didn't need love in his life, did he?  
  
Harry couldn't love him. No. Harry's pure, innocent, untouched... but then why'd he write?  
  
Draco didn't understand. It's just...he couldn't get Harry out of his mind.  
  
Why?  
  
Why?  
  
Why?  
  
Why?  
  
Why?  
  
He crushed the thought that began nibbling on the corner of his brain. //I do NOT!//  
  
After a bit, the thought came back. //Didn't I tell you to go away?// he told it peevishly.  
  
The thought stayed firmly put. //You know I'm right.//  
  
Draco ignored it.  
  
The thought, however, was annoyingly persistant. //I'm right and you know it.//  
  
Draco glared daggers at it. //What was it you said?//  
  
//You like Harry.//  
  
//Let me get this straight. Me, Draco Malfoy, son of Voldemort's right-hand man, I am in LOVE with the Boy who Lived? Me. Harry Potter. Me. Harry Potter. Is there something I fail to comprehend here?//  
  
//You look good together. You're sexy, he's sweet. It's perfect. You're bitter, he's your cure. He's too selfless, you're his counter. Don't worry, it'll all come out in the wash.//  
  
//I love the fucking Boy who Lived. Love.//  
  
//Yup!//  
  
//You're kidding.//  
  
//No.//  
  
Draco paused, thought a bit, and decided that, gosh darn it all, the darn idea was right. He dipped his quill in his elaborate inkwell and spun matching words with an extra flourish.  
  
***  
  
"HP--  
  
I think I love you.  
  
--DM"  
  
***  
  
Harry was in the bathroom when Hedwig returned with a letter.   
  
After untying a golden thread, he skimmed it and almost collapsed in shock. That was certainly not what he had expected. He flipped the note over but decided against defacing it. Harry wondered why he hadn't noticed Draco's beautiful penmanship before, wondered why he'd used the word 'beautiful' in conjunction with his oldest enemy, desparately tried to forget that it was that beauty that had sent him racing out of the warmth of Gryffindor Tower to rescue the blonde, and grabbed a slip of paper to scrawl a reply on.  
  
***  
  
"Malfoy, what the hell?  
  
Meet me by the lake at ten tonight; we seriously need to talk.  
  
Harry"  
  
***  
  
The owl was tired, but sensed it was close to rest. She flew.  
  
Draco recieved the parchment, and read it. His face fell, then he relaxed. It was an improvement,  
  
Resolving to take care of that later, he hastily scribbled a reply in his excitement.  
  
***  
  
"K.  
  
-D."  
  
Harry stared at the initial. It surprised him, but he already knew Draco's script. But why was the bloody Slytherin signing the parchment as if they were already lovers? Presumptuous, as usual... Harry let his thoughts drift off on thier own, so he didn't notice when they started playing with a daydream of Draco.  
  
***  
  
When Draco reached the lake at 9:55, there was no Harry.   
  
There was no Harry five minutes later.  
  
Or ten minutes after that.  
  
When it was 10:30, Draco was extremely worried. Somehow, he knew that Harry hadn't stood him up.  
  
A black silhouette of one figure carrying an unconcious one passed before the moon just above Draco. Harry's glasses, bridge broken, fell onto the ground beside him.   
  
Draco stared a moment, horrified, then turned and ran for Dumbledore. 


	2. Rescue

Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 5  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: I am mutilating JK's characters (while keeping them in character I hope) to fit my twisted purposes in fanfiction. The key part in that phrase: JK's characters. As in, they're not mine. *sigh*. The other part: FANfiction. Not THE ACTUAL CREATOR fiction, FANfiction. I write FANfiction. I am a FAN. I cool the regular creator by waving up and down or having blades that whirl around in a circle when you turn me on (wait...). The point being, I'm NOT JK, however much I might wish thereof.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism.  
  
"Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley of #4 Privet Drive were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank-you vey much."  
  
-Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone  
  
Harry rolled over and woke up. His eyes opened to a dirty sock, which he pulled off his face. Sitting up to try to get his bearings, he hit his head on the ceiling painfully. After nursing the ensuing lump, he looked around carefully and recognised the room in which he was currently.  
  
He wondered what sort of sick, twisted dream he was having. Then he noticed how much his head hurt. No, it was definitely not a dream. Then... where the fuck...  
  
***  
  
Draco slammed into the stone gargoyle, panting. Yes, he had been here before-- who did you think Dumbledore had spoken to about the Heir of Slytherin back in second year? Draco couldn't tell the Headmaster what little he knew at the time, but perhaps, because no harm was done then, he could tell Dumbledore something useful now. To hell with his carefully cultivated image, he was not going to lose anything before he had fully had it, and Harry was no exception. He cursed under his breath; he didn't know the password.  
  
And, thanks to his crash landing, he now fully knew that stone gargoyles do indeed hurt when one so happens to collide with them. As if he didn't know. Ha. Ha.  
  
He resolved to wait, knowing that he could slip up the stairs with little effort as soon as someone came out. Clutching the stitch in his side, he hoped to God or whoever looked after the idiot mortals who inhabit the earth-- there has to be someone who fully comprehends the concept of being out there, doesn't there?-- that the someone would HURRY UP before Harry-- Draco stopped the train of thought right there. Nothing would happen. Dumbledore would step in and save the day. He wasn't called the greatest headmaster the best school of wizarding had ever seen for nothing, despite everything his father had tried to tell him.  
  
There was nothing left to do but wait.  
  
Waiting, however, was not easy for the blonde. He now had the weight of confusion on his shoulders and no Harry to alleviate it with. If worst came to worst, Draco had thought earlier, then he would simply distract Harry by pouncing him onto the Hogwart's snow-blanketed lawn.  
  
He'd never thought to think of a situation where Harry was abducted before he could even get at him. He began tugging at chunks of his hair in frustration. He hadn't noticed the strength of his attraction to Harry when the thought had first crossed his head back in second year when he was brainstorming a list of things that would really piss his father off. He hadn't noticed it growing stronger over the years since. He had noticed the reoccurring dreams about Harry, but he had chalked that one up to a surfeit of teenage hormones. Now that he'd sat down and thought about how long the sliver of emotion towards the Boy who Lived had been hidden within him, it wasn't surprising that the sliver was no longer a sliver, and, if he were talking wood, what he had blithely ignored until he'd ended up in bed with the object of his desire could have fueled a bonfire. He growled in frustration and started to beat his head against the harsh stone wall.  
  
***  
  
Hermione turned to Ron, who was playing chess with one of the twins, and poked him in the side.  
  
"What is it?" Ron snapped, his redhead temper getting the better of him.  
  
"Mmmm... hasn't Harry been acting rather oddly lately?"  
  
"Ummm... wait... why do you ask?"  
  
"He's been acting concerned about Malfoy, and I haven't seen him all day."  
  
"I don't know, Herm, maybe you're just tired. It is eleven PM."  
  
Hermione gave Ron a Look.  
  
"Fine." Ron strove to think of a good reason that Harry was, in fact, acting normally for the sole purpose of proving Hermione wrong. As he thought, though... "Wait, Hermione-- he slept 'till three o'clock! Or... at least, that's what he said he was doing. I saw Hedwig flying around, in and out of his bed. Plus, he had the locking spell you taught him up."  
  
Hermione stared. "Ron, has he ever done anything like this before?"  
  
Ron thought again. Crickets chirped, then stopped because it was their bedtime. A thin sheen of perspiration glossed Ron's forehead. It was a bit before he spoke. "Damn."  
  
Hermione could have smirked if she were the type and that was the time, but neither applied. "I was right?"  
  
Ron wrinkled his nose at her, and nodded.   
  
"We'd better find Dumbledore." Hermione said.  
  
Ron blinked. "That far gone?"  
  
Hermione looked at him. "I found something." Ron stared as Hermione grabbed his wrist. "I'll show you." In a flash, they were out of the common room and scrambling down the corridors of the school.  
  
Three staircases later, Hermione stopped suddenly, and Ron, loosed from her death grip, hurtled into the nearest wall. He heard her mutter something, and, when he turned around, he saw a gorgeous bathroom exposed.   
  
"Prefect's bathroom," Hermione told him in response to his baffled stare. She led him in and showed him a pile of two robes-- one soft and black, and one starched white. The white robe was covered in blood.  
  
"Oh, shit." Ron gaped.  
  
Hermione gave him a McGonagall stare. "Recognise 'em?"  
  
Ron stepped over and gasped. "Harry's?"  
  
Hermione looked at him. "That's not all." She flicked her wand and shimmer appeared in the air. "I came down here and was naturally worried about the blood, so I tried a spell that constructs an image of a person from any DNA that might have been left behind." She ignored Ron's blank look and pointed at the shimmer. It had turned into a wisp of a figure, misty but easily recognisable.  
  
"Malfoy."   
  
Ron nodded. "Right. Dumbledore. Pronto."  
  
The two ran out of the bathroom and through the castle.  
  
***  
  
Harry was not a happy camper. He knew where he was, all right. He had spent a good portion of his early childhood here. And it looked like he was about to get answers as to why. However, they didn't look like they would be happy answers. The door had just swung open to reveal a heavyset form with a thick neck and a purplish complexion. Harry didn't know where his glasses were, but it seemed vaguely familiar from somewhere. Another figure came into view, thin, bony, and dressed in an outrageously gaudy outfit consisting mostly of a rather sickening shade of magenta. Harry couldn't place it... not yet.  
  
***  
  
Draco heard footsteps down the hall and abruptly stopped pounding his head against the wall. A thin trickle of blood ran down his temple. He regarded Harry's two best friends with considerable suspicion as they approached him at a trot. He pressed himself hard into the wall and hoped to high heaven that they wouldn't see him; he had no urgent wish to explain his prescence to the nosy buggers.  
  
He was vaguely aware that the two were squabbling. It struck him as vaguely amusing. He found himself detatched and dizzy, not concentrating well at all.   
  
Hermione stopped before the gargoyle and whispered to it, and she and Ron disappeared onto the winding staircase. He siezed the opportunity and rushed up the steps, clutching Harry's broken glasses as a token of legitimacy.  
  
***  
  
Harry placed it. Uncle Vernon and Rita Skeeter. No-- wait-- Aunt Petunia and Voldemort. How-- oh god-- Harry's head swum. Was this why his uncle had hated him so much? Because the Boy Who Lived was right in Voldemort's clutches-- Voldemort himself-- but was stopped by spells. Voldemort was hiding and feeding his nemesis, because he just so happened to be his uncle. That made sense, why they tried so hard to stamp out his magick. Once Dumbledore's spells lifted-- oh hell-- he would be completely vulnerable and there was shit Dumbledore could do about it.  
  
And-- Rita Skeeter? And Aunt Petunia. There *was* a reason that blasted reporter harboured her grudge, because of her sister. Harry's mother was obviously not the only witch in the family.  
  
It wasn't social status, it was a power struggle. And now-- here he was-- no glasses, no wand-- powerless against Vernon/Voldemort and Petunia/Skeeter. Damn.  
  
***  
  
The three students subconciously fell into a panting line before Fawkes, who squawked loudly and flew over to perch on Draco's shoulder (to his intense pleasure).  
  
Hermione's eyes flew reflexively over, and she screamed. "Malfoy?"  
  
He looked at her disinterestedly. It was Granger. He felt rather faint, and hated to associate with her-- he wouldn't blame her if she harboured a grudge-- but he handed her Harry's glasses. "He's gone," Draco remarked concisely and weakly. The thin stream of blood on his face had flowed far enough down that he tasted metal on the corner of his mouth, and he resisted a sudden urge to lick his lips.  
  
Hermione stared in rapt horror, unable to look away. "His glasses..."  
  
Draco looked at her. "He's been taken away. He's in danger." He felt his mind drift slowly away. "Save him if I can't make it."  
  
Both Ron and Hermione were suitably astonished, and more so when the blonde keeled over in a dead faint.  
  
***  
  
Harry screamed.  
  
***  
  
Dumbledore stepped out of his office, told Ron to take the youngest Malfoy down to Madame Pomfrey, and asked Hermione what had happened.   
  
Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 6  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: Um... does anyone want to pay me for this? No...? Somehow I thought so. Even if you did, though, I would tell you to hang on a bit, and see if I could get a release, etc. from JK (who would probably send me the way of Voldy in the series if I tried). I'm not making profit, I'm not claiming they're mine, all I'm doing is playing! Honest! I borrow everyone's toys!  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.  
  
"Fuck it."  
  
-Eminem (and probably a whole lot of other people, too).  
  
Draco came to moments after he was laid in a pristine bed in the hospital wing, feeling extremely lightheaded. Madame Pomfrey gave him a severe look. "When was the last time you ate, young man?"  
  
Draco's head spun. "Uh... three, four days?"  
  
Ron stared. Not eating?  
  
Draco's head whirled, tucked, and landed, giving new meaning to the term 'mental gymnastics'. He groaned.  
  
Madame Pomfrey waved her wand briskly, materialising an IV next to Draco's bed.  
  
Draco screamed (much as Harry was doing at that moment, but I don't want to get redundant).  
  
***  
  
[flashback]  
  
"Common muggle," Lucius sneered at a seven-year old Draco, whose silver eyes were glazed open, frightened. A slight pink tint had appeared over the boy's cheeks, feverish. "Unable to heal himself magickally."  
  
A strangled whimper wormed its way through Draco's swollen vocal cords. Sore throats and fevers did not grant one sympathy in the Malfoy household. Draco knew he was the toy in this, Lucius's latest game.   
  
He was right. The needle, one of his mother's, glinted silver off his eyes before it jabbed into him like so many mosquitoes. Draco, already ill, was in no way able to withstand his father's little games. He wasn't quite sure what the point of this one was-- he never was, never quite figured out exactly what made this fun for his father-- but it hurt, not as much as other times, but still hurt and hurt and his head pounded and hurt and his face burned hot and hurt and hurt....  
  
***  
  
Madame Pomfrey frowned. "I'm not going to hurt you."  
  
Draco whimpered softly and curled up, giving up.   
  
She decided not to pry. Maybe the IV wasn't such a good idea-- she asked Ron to run down to the kitchens for some chicken soup. She sat down on the bed next to Draco and began the slow process of getting him out of this emotional tangle.  
  
***  
  
Hermione burst into tears as Dumbledore watched silently. Through her tears, she dropped Harry's glasses onto the table before them.  
  
Dumbledore waited a moment before speaking. "What do you know?"  
  
Words Hermione had never before spoken were on her lips, when she realised she did know something. She took a deep breath, sniffled, and began to talk. "I was in the Prefect's bathroom earlier today, when I found two sets of empty robes."  
  
Dumbledore offered her a tissue, and she blew her nose before continuing to summarise how she figured out they were Harry's and Draco's. Tears kept leaking out of the corners of her eyes. "I just can't figure it out. Harry suddenly started acting weird over vacation, is all, and then, next thing I know, he's gone!"  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "I just found out something, Hermione, and it's not at all good."  
  
Hermione looked back at him. "Tell me."  
  
The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes was nearly gone. "Harry's uncle Vernon is Voldemort."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Harry's mother, in giving her life, repelled Avada Kedavra from Harry. It rebounded onto Voldemort, stripping him of his powers. They created another person. Vernon was an empty shell of a person, walking around, making drills. He had no real life in him. The essence of Voldemort was floating around Harry and took root on his uncle, slowly changing him nearer and nearer to Voldemort. After the Triwizard tournament last year, Voldemort proper and Vernon fused themselves together to counteract each of the half-lives they had lived for the past fifteen years. They have been learning themselves ever since, and only now have finally been able to break the protection I laid on their house. Vernon as a seperate entity no longer exists. He had been absorbed into Voldemort, and Voldemort has been absorbed into him, but the resulting creation is still, in all relevant ways, Voldemort.   
  
"The only thing that worries me is a nasty little thing about emotion and energy. I'm certain you know about this, Hermione?"  
  
She nodded numbly, still processing.  
  
"There is some thirty years worth of cumulative hatred burning within Voldemort. The energy from that hatred is going to be behind every spell they work against Harry. That is what worries me."  
  
Hermione waited for it all to sink in, then spoke. "But where does Malfoy fit in in all this?"  
  
***  
  
Ron, panting and red, burst in the door with a plastic container of broth.  
  
Draco caught the scent of it from across the room. "I'm a strict vegetarian," he remarked before he lost conciousness for the second time.  
  
***  
  
At that precise moment, at number 4 Privet Drive, Harry fainted.  
  
***  
  
Notes: I was talking to a friend and they said that Krum is dead next, and I wanted to know what you all thought about that. I don't want Krum to die, nor did I want Diggory to die. Heck, I don't want Voldy to die (no more books...waah... not that they're coming out anyways). So, opinions, anyone?  
  
I'm sorry this chapter is so short, I wanted to get it out before I get caught up in weekday bustle.  
  
Thank-you ever so much for the wonderful, lovely reviews!   
  
Transcending the Bullshit, chapter 7  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: Does this *really* need to be said? This is part seven, you guys! Well... if you really need it... Draco and Harry are on my Christmas wishlist, and they're one-of-a-kind. They're a collector's dream, and I'm trying for it, but they're not mine yet, so I'm deferring to JK to avoid legal difficulty. Don't sue, please, I'm not Eminem ("For every million I make, another relative sues") and I can't afford it. Really, unless you want my collection of ripped, reused wrapping paper.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.  
  
"You have been told: an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. But I say to you: love your enemies as your friends... for do not tax collectors love thier kin?"  
  
-Jesus  
  
The next morning, Harry was in a great deal of pain, and trying desparately not to think about it. A husky baritone cast the latest curse across the protected living room: "Imperio!"  
  
This was the only chance Harry had, and he knew it. He threw the curse, thanking faux-Moody for this unforeseen advantage, then pretended he was under it, stifling his reflex to gag.  
  
***  
  
Hermione dreamed she was in Transfiguration, trying desparately not to doze off as Ron already had. She had mastered the material the previous year: turning the same cushions that they had Summoned and Banished into full sets of kitchen utensils.  
  
Summoned... like Harry and his Firebolt at the Triwizard tournament... Harry... if only she could Summon him.  
  
If only she could Summon him.   
  
Her head jerked upright. Sleep solved so much, allowing the subconcious mind to sift through the day's events and put it in some order. She knew who else would want to save Harry, and also had the power to do so. She elbowed Ron, who was sleeping on a desk in the common room next to her, in the ribs, hard. "Dobby!" she hissed into his ear.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Dobby! We could Summon Harry back!"  
  
Ron blinked. "But Herm, that charm isn't s'posed to be used on humans!"  
  
"Would you rather have Harry dead?"  
  
Ron sighed. He was experiencing extreme deja-vu. Hadn't Hermione pulled an antirule tirade somewhere during second year? His mind was rather groggy from his nap.  
  
Without waiting for any further answer, Hermione whisked Ron out of the common room and around the corridors. Ron sighed again; this was getting to be a habit.  
  
***  
  
Draco woke in the hospital wing, noticed the IV needle, and ripped it out hastily with a scream. Madame Pomfrey bustled over and began to chide him harshly, something to do with 'well, I needed to get some food in you and you weren't concious'.  
  
***  
  
"Yous want to Summon Harry Potter?" Dobby asked, his bulbous eyes greenly bulging.  
  
Hermione's brow was knit in worry. "I can't think of a better plan."  
  
"Dobby will do anything to help Harry Potter!"  
  
"Great. Come with me." Hermione, Pied Piper of Hogwart's, led her horde of boy and house-elf outside, whereupon she promptly began to shiver. Ron handed her his cloak, which she put on greatfully.  
  
"On the count of three," she told them.  
  
"One...  
  
"Two...  
  
"Three...  
  
"ACCIO!"  
  
***  
  
Harry ran outside, pursued by Voldemort and Skeeter. He felt that his legs were about to give out on him, and he was almost ready to give himself up for dead, when he disappeared with a *crack*.  
  
***  
  
Harry flopped onto the snow in front of Hermione, Ron, and Dobby.  
  
Ron winced when he saw Harry, or, more specifically, the blood sreaking Harry's cheeks, the torn robes, the bruises, and the mats of blood he chose prudently not to speculate on. Hermione levitated him to keep the weight off, and they ran towards the hospital wing.  
  
***  
  
Madame Pomfrey had just come to terms with Draco and was about to walk off to look for some antiseptic ointment to apply to Draco's forearm when Hermione burst in the door, bearing Harry.  
  
Madame Pomfrey took one look and hustled the Boy who Lived into a bed. For once, Harry found he had no urge to resist. He tilted his head to the side idly while Pomfrey searched through drawers.  
  
"Malfoy...?" Harry's voice was parched, cracked, soft, and tortured.   
  
Draco looked over and saw Harry. His eyes grew big, and he had almost jumped off the cot when Madame Pomfrey fixed him with a glare that his instincts told him to obey. "Yes?" he whispered, relieved that Harry was back but concerned for the boy's obvious injuries.  
  
"I'm... sorry..."  
  
"Harry..." Draco choked on the name. "Don't be."  
  
Harry smiled slightly. "Mmmm," he remarked, lacking energy to come up with a more enthusiastic response. It didn't even occur to him that he and Draco were supposed to be bitter enemies. His eyes fluttered shut and his head pressed more deeply into the pillow.  
  
Draco watched his ex-nemesis for a bit, then gave up and retreated into his own head, a horror novel in its own right. He knew some of what Harry must have gone through, and, at that point, commenced to worry.  
  
***  
  
Hermione and Ron had been sent back to thier common room to do some worrying of thier own. What would happen to Harry? Would he be okay?  
  
***  
  
Dumbledore walked down to the hospital wing at the request of Madame Pomfrey. Apparently, two students and a house-elf had Summoned the boy back to Hogwart's. The only problem he had with that was that it could not be done, magickally, physically, or otherwise. It was merely impossible. He lost himself in thought and managed to walk right past the ornate collection of chamber pots that he would have ordinarily stopped to admire, as they had been the source of some confusion over the past years as to why he could never seem to find the room when he had a moment. The only way that it could happened is if the casters didn't know it couldn't work, and, in addition, had sufficient faith to allow it to happen. He swerved to narrowly avoid a large coat of armour that stood by the wall. He was glad of that, though: that enough people cared so strongly about Harry that the boundaries of Impossibility could be so readily crossed. There was only a single catch: He could not tell them, lest the faith be corrupt, and if they were to lose hope, there would be no power. Dumbledore, greatest Headmaster Hogwart's had ever seen, was frankly frightened.  
  
***  
  
Three days later, both Harry and Draco were released from the hospital wing. Harry was still rather fragile, and Draco was less than perfect himself, but neither could stand being cooped up and unable to talk for so long. It was gnawing at both thier minds, and while Harry would have preferred to brood over it alone, he found himself agreeing to wander off and spend some time with Draco. They finally settled into a small nook near the Great Hall together, resting.  
  
"What was it?" Harry asked.  
  
"The other night? You... rescued me..." Draco said.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because you're a hopeless Gryffindor and do that sort of thing."  
  
"That's not quite what I meant."  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
Harry grimaced. "I didn't recognise you, for one thing. For another thing, you have a wonderful life! Everyone worships you, you're hot as hell, and..." He trailed off momentarily, shocked. That last statement had come out of his mouth with out the interference of his brain. He shrugged and carried on. "So many people would want to be you. What... made you... want to do that?"  
  
Draco sighed. "I was muggle-born and adopted as a torture toy," he said simply and concisely.  
  
Harry intuitively understood. "Don't do it again."  
  
Draco nodded slowly. "I'll try."  
  
"I don't want to lose my reputation as a loyal Gryffindor."  
  
Draco's face chilled suddenly and Harry shivered as the mask of apathy descended on the blonde. Draco whispered, "You don't..."  
  
"There's so much to live for." Harry interrupted him, not really wanting to address the topic they'd come out to discuss. He didn't know what he felt and he wasn't ready to share his ignorance with the admittedly very attractive boy that was sitting about three inches from his nose.  
  
Draco snorted, in contrast to his turbulent feelings. "What, a world tyranised by You-Know-Who?"  
  
Harry gave him a McGonagall-esque Look. "Life is too precious. Suicide is the coward's option."  
  
Draco realised he'd been heeding his father's instructions. He mentally muttered something along the lines of 'to hell with it' and decided to trust the Gryffindore with his emotions. "I need a lot of love. I'm emotionally high-maintenance, and I wasn't getting enough of it."  
  
On impulse, Harry reached out a hand and clasped Draco's. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be." Draco repressed the fluttery feeling that accompanied the Quidditch-roughened hand.  
  
At that point, Harry gritted his teeth, lifted the derailed conversation firmly and set it back on track. "What was that sex about?"  
  
"You're not the only morsel of eye candy around, Potter."  
  
"What?"  
  
Draco smiled slightly. "Trust you'd not know your own beauty."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Simply put, I've been hot for you for quite some time."  
  
It clicked. "Ohhhhhhh..." went Harry.  
  
"You're a wet dream--"  
  
Harry held up his hand. "Enough."  
  
"It was amazing."  
  
"I don't want a relationship based on sex."  
  
"What else is there?"  
  
"Emotion, love-- I'm not sure, I haven't tried it. Caring, watching each other's back specially. I guess best friendship with benefits and a bit more of... *something*".  
  
Draco nodded slowly. "I think I get it."  
  
"Good. Because I don't."  
  
"Let me explain," said Draco helpfully. "I am a hot gay guy. You are a hot gay guy. I happen to like you a bit, which is more than I can say for most people. You like me because I'm Draco Malfoy and everyone likes me. We had spontaneous yet amazing sex after you saved my life. Therefore, if the fanfiction authors get their way, we are going to end up deeply in love and screwing like rabbits on aphrodisiacs. So, instead of fighting it, we can save ourselves a lot of angst and just start dating without all the hullabaloo. Sound good?"  
  
It did, and Harry was reluctant to admit it. Draco closed the distance between them, hooking his arms gently around Harry's waist. "Sound good?" he asked again, persistently.  
  
"Mmmm," said Harry languidly. Draco was warm and it felt good. If it were fated, then there was no point fighting it. Draco took that as assent.  
  
They sat a moment in silence, curled up in each other's warmth.  
  
Draco lifted their paralysis by leaning over and gently brushing his lips over one of Harry's newer cuts. "You're going to end up with another scar," he remarked softly.  
  
Harry shrugged. "I guess. It doesn't matter."  
  
***  
  
Ron was walking down the hall when he heard Harry's voice. He rushed over, and saw his best friend cuddled up with Draco Malfoy.   
  
Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 8  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: Sorry, they're not mine. I do not make billions of dollars each year. I do not make much of anything each year. They aren't mine. Doesn't this suck? We are glad that JK will graciously share her playthings with me (at least, I hope she will, after all I've done. If I'm really lucky, she won't want them back and she'll give them to me... well, I can hope, can't I?) No suing, please?  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.  
  
"I didn't realise how hard it was to find a quote for every chapter when I started."  
  
-Robert Asprin, paraphrased.  
  
Note to all crazed fans with an addiction to HP fanfiction (hey, a rhyme! Perhaps that was intentional...): Here is your latest fix.  
  
*time lapse, because I'm evil, lazy, and think you all should be able to figure it out.*  
  
***  
  
"Professor Dumbledore?" Ron asked.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Weasley?"  
  
"It's Harry."  
  
Dumbledore looked up from the book he was reading. "Yes?"  
  
"I saw him talking to Malfoy! They've been enemies forever! What's wrong with him?"  
  
The Headmaster shut his book with a snap and sighed. "He's growing up."  
  
Ron blinked. "What do you mean, growing up? He doesn't need to grow up!"  
  
Dumbledore chuckled. "It wasn't an insult. I merely mean that he's changing. All children turn into adults at some point. They still retain their personalities, but become more refined, and in a sense wiser. It's a process that continues all through the life, but most pronouncedly during adolescence."  
  
"Why hasn't Hermione "grown up", then?"  
  
"You missed it."  
  
"I missed it?"  
  
"Back in third year, you barely spoke to her on account of her cat, and she was perpetually exhausted. That's when she grew up."  
  
"Oh..." It was definitely something for him to think about. "Well, thanks, Professor."  
  
"Certainly." He opened his book and resumed reading with a small smile. The youngest Weasley brother was taking this better than he had expected.   
  
***  
  
Harry woke up on a couch in the deserted Slytherin dorm, disoriented and confused. He yawned before asking, "Why has everything gone green?"  
  
Draco smiled from his seat on the couch across the room. "Not a morning person, are you?"  
  
"No... wait... what am I doing here?"  
  
"We wanted to talk last night without being bothered by Granger or Weasley, remember?"  
  
Harry sat up, suspicious but still groggy. "Mmm... talk or 'talk'?"  
  
"Have some faith, Potter! Conversation, clean, pure, ordinary, chaste conversation. I spent the night across the room, if it makes you feel better."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Draco decided it was time to wake Harry up, and subsequently launched himself across the room and was about to kiss Harry before he was stopped.   
  
He made a face fom Harry's lap.  
  
"Quidditch reflexes," Harry explained. "But I'm not ready for that yet. Not to mention, I haven't brushed my teeth yet this morning."  
  
Uncharactaristically, Draco giggled. "Eeew, morning breath!"  
  
Harry blinked. "Riiiiight. Mind getting off me?"  
  
"I've dreamed about getting you off lots!"  
  
Harry hit Draco upside the head. "Either you or the author is on drugs right now, so sober up, get off my lap, and then we'll talk."  
  
Draco sat on the other end of the sofa, pouting. "Awww... Harry..."  
  
Harry finally laughed, then stopped. "Seriously, Drac."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"I want to get to know you better before anything else."  
  
"But--"  
  
"Regardless of the various hormones attributed to both rabbits and teenage boys."  
  
"C'mon, Harry!"  
  
"You're too much of a morning person."  
  
"It wears off after I take a shower."  
  
"Well, then, scoot! I could use one myself."  
  
Draco's eyes lit up. "Really?"  
  
"NO, get that thought out of your head right now."  
  
***  
  
Ron walked into the girl's dorm and bounced on Hermione's bed.  
  
"Mmmmfff."  
  
"Herm, wake up!" (bounce, bounce).  
  
"Mmmf."  
  
"Herm!"  
  
"Mmm-- what?" Her eyes opened. "Oh, it's you."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
At that point, she woke up the rest of the way, and bolted out of bed, screeching. "RONALD WEASLEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING IN HERE? THIS IS A GIRL'S DORM!"  
  
He blushed. "Er, maybe I'll go away until you're ready..."  
  
Hermione looked down, realised she wasn't wearing anything, and grabbled her bathrobe hastily. "You're going to pay for that! Now, what do you want?"  
  
"well..." Ron said in a small voice, "I just wanted to ask you about growing up..."  
  
"Something you haven't done yet!" she snapped. "Now, go away, and I'll talk to you later." She marched him out of the door and slammed it behind him. "Boys..." she muttered under her breath as she lifted the hairbrush off a table.  
  
***  
  
Harry and Draco were curled up on the bench at the Ravenclaw table, fully dressed and a great deal more awake.  
  
"I wouldn't have imagined you as a cuddling type," Harry remarked.   
  
"You wouldn't have imagined me as anything."  
  
"True."  
  
"Being the son of a Death Eater doesn't give you a lot of experience with this sort of thing, and I always wanted more love than I got."  
  
"What love you got?"  
  
"My point."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I think that's why I like you now."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Everyone knows about those Muggles you grew up with."  
  
"They were horrible." Harry drew a deep breath. "But it turns out they weren't Muggles."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Do you remember Rita Skeeter?"  
  
"Her? That bitch I cooperated with because I wanted you to notice me?"  
  
"That's why you did it?"  
  
"Yes." Draco brushed it off. "What about her?"  
  
"She's really my Aunt Petunia. Or-- my Aunt Petunia is really her?"  
  
"Wait-- how?"  
  
"I don't know how I didn't see it earlier. They were both forever sticking thier nose into what's none of their business, and masking things with untrue, horrible variations of the truth! It's only a small hop from one to the other."  
  
"I didn't know your aunt."  
  
"She hated me."  
  
"I know that. I just haven't met her."  
  
"Do you know of my uncle, then?"  
  
"Vernon?"  
  
"He's assimilated with Voldemort."  
  
"Wha--?"  
  
"They wanted to stamp the wizardry out of me. Any guesses why?"  
  
It dawned. "Oh. They were trying to wipe you out?"  
  
"They still are."  
  
"They-- where were you?"  
  
"I was-- the place I happened to grow up."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
Harry winced.  
  
"Never mind, I know what happened. But-- oh god-- Harry..."  
  
"Dumbledore saved my life so many times."  
  
"Harry..."  
  
"We're not safe now."  
  
Draco leaned closer to Harry. "I know."  
  
***  
  
Author's Note: I will, at this point, apologise for the length of this chapter or lack thereof. I'm hoping that if I leave them at rotten, stinky cliffhangers or some semblance thereof, you will keep reading or at least yell at me for it. Reviews do wonders for an author's writing speed. You don't want to leave us on our own, trust me, so review the pieces you want to see updated. 


	3. Truth in Sex

Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 9  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: Ack. I can wish all day that I owned them, but, then again, I could wish I had seventeen more reviews by tomorrow. Neither is very probable at this stage of the game (and everything is a game in my eyes). Also, I in no way endorse drugs in any way, shape, or form, etc, etc, blah, blah, I'm gonna quote Eminem now. "I just said it; I didn't know if you'd do it or not." It's your choice, not mine. Remember that.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism, now durg use/abuse, I s'pose. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.  
  
"If you're ever caught in a bad situation, you'd better hope that whoever has you there is truly evil. The evil person will play with you, giving you time to escape, while the normal person will just kill you straight away."  
  
-Unknown  
  
***  
  
It was not a good day. Five out of the seven Hufflepuff first-years were found unconcious in thier beds. The remaining two were bearers of a scrap of parchment: "You will all die."  
  
It was almost as if they were being played with.  
  
***  
  
Harry was poking his scrambled eggs with a fork when Draco entered the dining hall.  
  
"Harry." He rushed over and snuggled into Harry's side, but Harry ignored him. "Harry!"  
  
Harry pushed his plate away and laid down his fork with a clatter. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't apologise. What's on your mind?"  
  
"Those Hufflepuffs."  
  
"There was nothing you can do."  
  
"They shouldn't have to deal with death that young."  
  
"It's a biological fact."  
  
Harry stood up abruptly, forcing Draco to catch himself on the edge of the table.   
  
"What the--" the blonde snapped.  
  
"Come with?"  
  
"I'm NOT going to hang round your dorm, there are *Weasleys* there. We don't need Ginny sighing over you."  
  
"Yours, then?"  
  
"Certainly."  
  
***  
  
Ron had finally caught Hermione. Getting her to talk, however, was somewhat harder. She had, quite obviously, purposely immersed herself in a thick book the moment Ron sat down next to her.  
  
After some time, she finally exploded. "Ron, I just don't want to talk about it!"  
  
"But... you promised..."  
  
"I said I'd talk to you later. I meant later. Now, leave me alone."  
  
Hurt, Ron exited Stage Right, up the stairs, and into the boy's dorm.  
  
***  
  
Draco flopped onto the couch and motioned Harry to join him. Harry, however, had noticed an open envelope of a pinkish-purplish glittering powder on a table.  
  
He lifted it gently. "What is it?"  
  
"Pixie," Draco replied offhandedly.  
  
" 'Pixie'?"  
  
"Wizarding drug."  
  
"Drug?"  
  
"Hallucinogen."  
  
Harry blinked. "Like LSD?"  
  
"Only a whole lot better."  
  
"Draco!"  
  
"What?" He reclined back lazily. "It's safe as anything gets."  
  
"You shouldn't be doing drugs anyway!"  
  
"It's only the muggle ones that are wooly. It's much easier to get them perfect with the right charm."  
  
"That's not what I meant."  
  
"What, then, Mr. Potter, did you mean?"  
  
"They mess with your head! You're not you while you're on them! Gods, I was kidding yesterday when I suggested you were high."  
  
"Try it."  
  
"What are you, nuts?"  
  
"No, I mean it. Try it!"  
  
"No way!"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"That's just... I want to keep my head, is all. As a matter of fact-- incendio!"  
  
The envelope burst into flames.  
  
Draco blinked lazily. Potter would just have to be educated about this sort of thing, he thought. "Fine, then," he said. "I'm not on anything today."  
  
As Harry curled up next to him, he muttered softly, "You'd better not be."  
  
***  
  
Ron fell asleep late that night after tossing for an hour and a half. Growing up. Why was his best friend changing all of a sudden?  
  
***  
  
Harry had been asleep, too, when a cold hand came to rest on his inner thigh. His eyes flew open. "Draco?"  
  
The blonde gave a Cheshire-cat smile. "Mmmm?"  
  
"Not tonight."  
  
"Harry, I won't wait much longer. We're spending ages together, but I have hormones, too."  
  
"Something I learned in Muggle school: Just say no."  
  
"I've learned something about school in general: never trust anything they tell you."  
  
"Sometimes they're right."  
  
"Harry, they teach that the world is round."  
  
"Isn't it?"  
  
"Of course not. It's full of bumps. What do you think mountains are?"  
  
"Everyone knows--"  
  
"They also tell you what to do. Abstinance-- what did it ever do for anyone?"  
  
"It probably saved lives. Thing of all the straight-edge kids who didn't OD on heroin!"  
  
"Yeah, the same kids who killed themselves because they were teased for that very reason?"  
  
"I'm sure they didn't."  
  
"Harry, you're so naive. In this world, there are sweet innocents, and then there is what might be termed the 'underworld' where everyone else operates. It's the world of secret anarchists, people who realise the government just isn't doing it, and... everyone else worth knowing, myself included. Government-- especially the government of those damn Americans." [A/N I am American. I mean no offence to the rest of us, it's just... man, our government is fucked up].  
  
"That sounds terrible. Prejudice and all."  
  
"It's the government. Here--" Draco handed Harry a tattered book from the bedside table, "When you get a chance, read this."  
  
Harry lifted his wand. "Lumos." The book: Abbie Hoffman's 'Steal This Book'. "Tattered? Why, Mr. Malfoy, I was unaware you kept anything less than pristine for more than thirty seconds!"  
  
"That book is the Bible. Don't tease me, Potter, if you know what's best for you-- or rather, your outdated ideals."  
  
Harry flicked his wand off. "You're quite a character."  
  
"I know."  
  
Harry chuckled. "I don't think that was quite a compliment."  
  
"Trust me, it was."  
  
"Whatever. May I go back to sleep?"  
  
"If you really want to. It's vacation, I can think of better ways to spend our night."  
  
"No, Draco."  
  
"Fine. Sleep. See what I care."  
  
"Will you promise you won't try anything?"  
  
"What it the promise of a Malfoy worth to Saint Potter?"  
  
"Plenty; if you do, I at least can bother you about it."  
  
"Whatever you say."  
  
"Promise."  
  
"I make no promises."  
  
"But--"  
  
"Harry, if you're going to be lying right there, all innocent, do you really expect me to sleep less than two inches away and keep my hands to myself?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You're going to be severely disappointed."  
  
"I sincerely hope I won't be."  
  
"No, you don't."  
  
"Yes I do!"  
  
"I'm not going to argue with you, Potter. You want it as much as I do."  
  
"Maybe so, but I won't give in so readily."  
  
"I'm leaving."  
  
"This isn't the only couch. It's not my fault you fell asleep on me."  
  
"You could have moved me."  
  
"I didn't want to disturb you."  
  
"Hmph." Draco stood lithely, stretched, and turned away from Harry. "Sure you don't want me?"  
  
Harry felt a momentary stirring in his loins at Draco's figure, palely illuminated by the moon, but swallowed the urge to act on it. Gulping, he shook his head. "Quite sure, thank you."  
  
"As you wish. I'll go to sleep, too, in that case."  
  
"Night." Harry curled up and drifted off.  
  
Draco spoke to the sleeping boy. "Night, yourself." It was some time before he actually slept.  
  
***  
  
At about ten o'clock the following morning, Harry left Draco asleep on the couch and went to the Gryffindor dorm for a change of clothes. Heaven knows, he needed it.  
  
He was rummaging through his trunk when he noticed Ron, breathing only shallowly on the bed next to his. He dropped the clean robe and laid his hand over Ron's forehead. Hot and clammy. A piece of torn parchment was pinned to the canopy upon closer inspection: 'We are here. Dumbledore may be great, but we are greater. You will all die.'  
  
It was like a cat with a mouse-- a bit of sport before the killing. Harry felt nauseous. He got Madame Pomfrey immediately, who, upon seeing Ron, promptly ignored Harry and rushed the redhead off to the Hospital Wing.  
  
[A/N] Who has seen the second movie? My, but... Lucius struck me. He's incredibly visually attractive, or at least I think so. None of my friends will agree with me, but, then again, they tend not to anyway.   
  
Transcending the Bullshit, chapter 10  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: Um... hey, I haven't been sued yet! Let's keep it that way! Remember, BORROWED plaything! *nod**nod**nod* *perky wave*  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism, now drug use/abuse, I s'pose. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.  
  
***  
  
"Did you do this, Mr. Potter? There have been quite a few suspicious injuries recently." Madame Pomfrey peered over the top of her glasses suspiciously after tending Ron.   
  
"No, Madame!"  
  
She sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, it's just... those first years weren't dead, thank Heaven, but four of them are still in critical condition. They will recover, but slowly. It's unnerving-- it would have been so easy to just outright kill them. It wasn't an accident. And now-- I think that your friend will get better eventually."  
  
"Well, isn't that good?"  
  
"Mr. Potter, I usually know that people are going to get better in this hospital wing. I've owled St. Mungo's, I don't know what else to do. Your friend is in worse condition than those first-years."  
  
At that point, Hermione burst in the door. "Harry! Ron--"  
  
Harry motioned her over. "It's bad."  
  
She chose not to ask; she didn't want to know.  
  
Madame shook her head. "Go on ahead, try to enjoy your vacation. I don't have anything else to tell you."  
  
Hermione nodded slowly. "I'm going to the library, then," she said.  
  
"Alright, then," Harry said with a resigned tone. "I guess I'll go find Draco."  
  
He trudged out of the hospital wing when he was stopped by Hermione. "Find Draco?"  
  
He turned towards her and blinked twice. "I thought you were going to the library."  
  
"Harry, what has been going on?"  
  
"Does it matter?"  
  
"I thought I was your friend!"  
  
Harry looked down. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Friends are supposed to care. That's what friends are for."  
  
A tear fromed in Harry's eye. "Yeah, Hermione. You're right. I guess I haven't been a very good friend recently."  
  
"You've got a lot on your mind. You-know-who's not even waiting for the end of the term to try for you this time."  
  
"That's no excuse."  
  
"C'mon-- we could talk about S.P.E.W?"  
  
"Hermione--" Harry grinned in spite of himself. "Somehow, this isn't the time for that. Could you just give this spew nonsense up?"  
  
"Could you tell me what's going on between you and Malfoy?" Hermione countered.  
  
"Draco," Harry corrected pesively. "It's just-- I went and saved his life because he was out in the snow, and it was cold, and he was bleeding and unconcious--"  
  
"Bleeding?"  
  
"He'd cut his wrists-- at the time I didn't know it was him. Draco didn't seem like the type for suicide-- he still doesn't-- but I saw the blood and the snow and bare feet and--"  
  
Hermione nodded. "So you took him to the Prefect's bathroom to clean him up?"  
  
"It was closer!" Harry protested weakly. "Besides... I wasn't thinking clearly. I just saw this beautiful boy, and he needed help."  
  
"So you rush in and ditch off his clothes as soon as you can?"  
  
"Herm! It's not like I had a choice! I don't think, somehow, that suicide or saving someone from themselves would amuse McGonagall! I don't want to get busted for saving his life. He would've died, and I needed to make sure that he hadn't done anything else."  
  
"And you left them in the bathroom?"  
  
"I was tired."  
  
"Hmmph. For your information, Harry, your robes can be traced. That's how I found out you'd been doing things afterhours with a bloody Malfoy."  
  
"Draco, Hermione. Do you know why he's so bitter?"  
  
She frowned. "He'd better have a good reason if you're going to like him."  
  
"He was muggle-born-- adopted."  
  
"Why-- oh." Hermione understood. "He was a vent for his adoptive parent's anti-muggle feelings?"  
  
"A toy."  
  
Hermione winced. "So it was a defense mechanism? Be hateful so that it won't hurt so much when your parents are hateful to you?"  
  
Harry nodded. "It's a lot easier to like him when you know that. Also-- he broke it."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"He broke the bitterness. That's when he decided to kill himself-- when he decided that he wasn't going to put up with his parent's crap anymore." As an afterthought, he added: "And decided that he was sick of hiding the fact that he's bi."  
  
"So?"  
  
"Living with his parents and out is suicide, Hermione. His father's a Death Eater."  
  
Hermione shuddered. "Don't mention it. So, you two are together?"  
  
"What do you mean, 'together'?"  
  
"You know, like boyfriends?"  
  
"Ummm..."  
  
Hermione's eyes lit up. "You are!" She hugged him forcefully. "I KNEW it!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well... it was obvious something was going on. I mean, you asked about him after he disappeared, like you cared but weren't ready to let us know."  
  
"Hermione!"  
  
She pressed on. "Just like Cho, back in fourth year!"  
  
Harry groaned. "You knew?"  
  
"Harry, it was hard to miss if you knew what you were looking for."  
  
"And I suppose you knew."  
  
"Of course, Harry-- I'm the 'insufferable know-it-all', remember?"  
  
"That was terrible, Hermione. Snape shouldn't've said that; don't remind me." [A/N-- if anyone is as much of an obsessed HP nut as I am and can tell me what that referred to, they get the next chapter dedicated to them as they deserve it and ought to be writing fanfiction of their own].  
  
"Still-- I'm happy for you."  
  
"Why? It's Draco we're talking about-- the same one who's been insulting you for God knows how long."  
  
"I don't think he was insulting me."  
  
"Eh?"  
  
"Welll... you can look at it two ways. Either he was really insulting his parent's upbringing, or..."  
  
"Or what?"  
  
"Or he was trying to get a rise out of you."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It doesn't make sense for him to hate you-- he has no reason to."  
  
"That day on the train, I refused his friendship..."  
  
"I know."  
  
"You weren't there!"  
  
"Ron told me. Anyway... he was attracted to you! He wanted to be your friend, just went about trying to get your friendship the wrong way. He didn't know better, you've said as much yourself. And ever since, everything you've said and done has been tainted by a bad first impression. You've gotten a new first impression, is all, and now you can see each other clearly. It'll take Ron and me a bit to get used to it, but I'm still happy for you."  
  
'Wow, Herm, you've pieced together everything in fifteen minutes that took the two of us two weeks to figure out."  
  
"Thanks." She turned to go, and called over her shoulder as she ran off: "The library calls!"  
  
Harry walked off towards that Slytherin dorm pensively.  
  
***  
  
Harry gave the stone the password absently, and it opened silently for him. He walked into the sea of Slytherin green and silver to see Draco stirring something in a caulron in the middle of the room.  
  
"What're you doing, Drac?" he asked.  
  
Draco jumped, and with a flick of his wand, the cauldron vanished. "Shit! I thought you weren't coming back."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"News flys in a small castle, Potter. I heard about Weasley."  
  
"He wasn't in much condition to talk."  
  
"Yeah, but don't you Gryffindors sit by the side of your invalid friends or something?"  
  
Harry laughed. "Only sometimes."  
  
"Didn't you sit by my side?"  
  
"It was sleep, plus, you're different."  
  
"Oh, am I?"  
  
"You're incredibly hot. It's not like watching someone you like sleep, it's like watching a model or something."  
  
"Harry, you're a character."  
  
"That's funny, I remember using the same term with you last night."  
  
"Yes, I do too. So we're both characters. Makes for a storybook relationship."  
  
"Draaaaaaa-co!"  
  
"What, love?"  
  
"You're flirting."  
  
"So I am. Does it matter?"  
  
"Yes, I want an answer. What were you doing?"  
  
Draco coloured slightly. "Does that matter?"  
  
"Well... it would matter more if the question was 'WHO were you doing', but somehow I don't think that's likely."  
  
"Who is there, besides you? Snape?"  
  
"I dunno, you and Snape seem pretty cozy in Potions, sometimes."  
  
"I am NOT going to shag the Potions master! Good god, Harry, he OLD!"  
  
"Alright, but seriously, what were you doing?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"You were doing something."  
  
"It's not important, okay?"  
  
"You weren't doing anything with that drug, were you?"  
  
"No... you haven't read the book yet, have you."  
  
"Not yet. I will as soon as I have a moment."  
  
"What are you doing right now?"  
  
"Talking to you?"  
  
"Do you have a moment?"  
  
"Sure..."  
  
"Come on, then." Draco grabbed Harry's wrist. "You can read it now. You left it here." He snatched the book and began to pull Harry off.  
  
"Where are you taking me?" Harry asked, offering a good deal of resistance.  
  
"Just to my dorm, I'm sick of couches."  
  
"You'd better not try anything."  
  
"Harry, if I was going to try anything against your will, I would have done so already."  
  
"Oh, would you have?" Harry asked.  
  
"It would be simple." Draco slipped the book into his pocket, produced his wand, and mumbled something. Harry found himself entwined in cords made of surprisingly strong, pink spun sugar. He gave Draco a dirty look.  
  
"Point taken."  
  
"Well, then, let's go." Draco waved his wand lightly, the sugar disappeared, and he led Harry off to his room uncontested.   
  
Harry flipped open the cover and skimmed the first few lines. "Draco! This guy was in prison???"  
  
"Yeah, so? Muggle prison is way different than Azkaban."  
  
"Okaaaay..." Harry continued reading quietly. He decided not to ask until dinner, when he'd've finished.  
  
When Harry was sufficiently engrossed, Draco slipped away, brought back the cauldron, and finished what he was doing.  
  
***  
  
Harry decided that there was a lot in this book that he'd need to discuss with Draco.  
  
***  
  
At dinner that night, halfway through the meal, Harry started feeling distinctly funny. He looked at his cup of half-finished pumkin juice, then at Draco, who was smiling rather less than innocently. "Draco, what did you do?"  
  
"You'll see. I promise, no drugs yet."   
  
Transcending the Bullshit, chapter 11  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: *sigh* Not mine...poor author... borrowing characters... anyways, I'm not making money off of this one (or even trying), so don't sue me (or even try to).  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism, now drug use/abuse, I s'pose. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.  
  
A thank-you for all the reviews; I feed them to my muse who helps me write these chapters, however long they may be in coming (hint: It's hard to write with a hungry muse).  
  
To Lyra and Darkraven, for making me feel like I'm not the only one who memorises these books to an extreme-- thirty times each. What can I say-- they're good rainy-day or cold-weather reading.  
  
***  
  
Harry followed Draco up to the Slytherin dorm rather reluctantly, not trusting whatever the blonde had done in the slightest and pestering to tell him what it was constantly.  
  
Draco, for his part, came up with multiple empty reassurances. His latest: "Don't worry, Harry, it's only a simple potion."  
  
"And what's it going to do to me?"  
  
"Nothing harmful."  
  
"You didn't mess up?"  
  
"I'm better at potions than Snape, Harry."  
  
"Well, you're modest."  
  
"I'm a Malfoy, well, an adoptive one. We don't know the meaning of the word."  
  
"You're not Malfoy. You're Draco."  
  
"I never learned it."  
  
"Okay, but--"  
  
"I'm not telling you, Potter. It's going to be a surprise, and a pleasant one."  
  
"Why do you still use my last name as a term of direct address, anyway?"  
  
"You haven't got anything bad associated with it. Your last name is as much a part of you as your first. Mine isn't."  
  
Harry nodded slowly. "I see. Draco, please--"  
  
"No, Harry." Finality rang through the words, and Draco turned to the stretch of wall leading to Slytherin. He spoke the password authoritively and pulled Harry inside. "Can you leave off the questions? Tomorrow, everyone comes back. This is our last night alone."  
  
Harry gaped. "Really?"  
  
"Yes. Now..." He walked toward the dorm room, and Harry, in a state of mild shock, followed.  
  
It wasn't until they were both sprawled into Draco's four-poster that he came to. "What are you--"  
  
"Quiet."  
  
"No." Harry rolled over to look at the other boy square in the eyes. "Will you tell me just what is going on? Or I'm going to leave."  
  
"Wellll..." Draco checked his watch. "Since, at this point, there is no turning back..." Harry goggled at his boyfriend, silently cursing whatever had gotten him into this postion. "I slipped something into your drink."  
  
"That much I could guess."  
  
"Harry... I can't tell you anything else with words."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Really intellegent one we have here-- no, Harry, our relationship has gone past that point. You know everything about me-- or enough that if I tell you anything else, it'll upset all the little quirks that'll pop up at odd times and send us both into laughter. And-- you're just nervous."  
  
"Damn straight!"  
  
"I most certainly am not."  
  
"I mean, I'm nervous. Sure, I'm nervous. Of course I'm nervous. Why wouldn't I be nervous?"  
  
"You're babbling, too. Ssshh." He covered Harry's mouth gently. "My point is, it's not even a moral reason we're not shagging. Bloody hell, Harry, we're teenage boys. There IS no such thing as inhibition. You're just scared you're going to mess something up."  
  
"Well..." Harry blushed.  
  
"Anyway, it was a simple potion to relieve anxiety and that sort of thing. I thought it would be nice to have a night together, properly together, before we have to seperate."  
  
"But--"  
  
"No buts, love."  
  
"They put Muggles in jail for this sort of thing!"  
  
"It's not rape if both people want it."  
  
"And if the person only wants it because they've been drugged, then it's still rape!"  
  
"Harry, you want it. You just can't admit it to yourself." The words rang true, Harry conceded, but that didn't mean anything.  
  
Draco kissed him.  
  
That meant something, though he wasn't quite sure what.  
  
***  
  
Back in Gryffindor Tower, Professor McGonagall was pacing in the middle of the common room. Both of the Weasley twins were white-faced and stuttering, while their sister was barely breathing and unconscious in the center of a red throw rug.  
  
"It was terrible, Professor," Fred remarked gravely and breathlessly. "There was nothing we could do..."  
  
***  
  
It was a bit later, not long, but enough, when Harry spoke. "Draco-- do you think--"  
  
"Not now, love."  
  
"Seriously-- is this going to be secret when everyone comes back?"  
  
"Of course! Anything else would be suicide."  
  
"But Drac--ohhh... that feels nice..."  
  
***  
  
It was later on that morning that the two boys rested.  
  
"Have fun, Potter?"  
  
Harry grinned, breathless, as the pale rays of morning light broke upon his face. "Yeah, I don't know why we hadn't..."  
  
"See? I was right." Draco gave his boyfriend a self-satisfied smirk.  
  
Harry sighed. "Yes, you were very right." He stood up, streched, and shook out his robes from the previous night before putting them on. "I'm going to go see Ron."  
  
"What? So soon?"  
  
"You said it yourself, Draco, to be seen together is suicide, and I want a chance to settle into my dorm again. If the bed's made when everyone else gets here, they're going to ask questions. The house-elves aren't THAT efficient, and I usually sleep late."  
  
"Fine. Go. See what I care." Draco turned away, not used to rebuttals or being denied anything.  
  
"Draco--" With that, Harry caught the blonde in a rather intense hug (with purposes of startling him. It worked). After a moment, he released it. "But that's going to have to last, love. Owl me sometime if you can figure out a way to keep this safe and secret." And then he was gone, leaving Draco stunned in his wake.  
  
***  
  
Harry ran through the halls to the Hospital Wing, and burst in as quietly as he could manage.  
  
Madame Pomfrey and a team of strange wizards were making rounds of the beds. Ron was up on his elbows, weakly, and staring at a bed across the room. He appeared to be mumbling something.  
  
Harry walked over silently to listen to his friend.  
  
"Ginny... not you again... why are you always the hardest hit..."   
  
"Ron!" Harry whispered. "You're okay?"  
  
The redhead looked over. "Sort of..."  
  
"Will you be okay?"  
  
Ron nodded. "I hope so..." His voice was thin and scratchy, like a number of dried reeds on the shore of a windy lake sometime in late November. "It's just... Ginny again. Remember? 'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.' It's as if they won't ever let her go..."  
  
Harry knew Ron didn't know just how close Ginny was to actually dying that day, and he chose not to tell him. "I'm sure she'll be okay, Ron. She's not the one he wants."  
  
Ron winced. "Then who is?"  
  
"I am."  
  
Hermione had walked in a minute earlier. "Wait, Harry, no! You can't die, because once he kills you, the rest of the world is next!"  
  
Harry smiled wryly. "That's a nice thought, that I'm the only thing between Voldemort and needless oblivion."  
  
Ron winced again. "Don't say the name, Harry, please?"  
  
"Alright." Something told Harry that it wasn't right not to listen to his best friend when he was that sick. Something else made him add: "I'll try not to."  
  
Hermione took a deep breath. "He wants you to go after him, Harry. He wants to be able to kill you."  
  
Harry glanced over at Ron and decided to take Hermione over a bit for what he was going to say. "I'm just afraid the only way for me to get rid of him is killing myself in the process." He whispered, no need to worry Ron more.  
  
"Tell me!" Ron said. "You shouldn't be sharing secrets!"  
  
"Not now, Ron, maybe when you're better."  
  
"Hermione, I'm fine. Nothing is going to make me worse unless You-Know-Who shows up."  
  
"We shouldn't tell him." Harry put in.  
  
"Is it about this growing-up thing that you've all been going on about?"  
  
"No... it's just... you should sleep, Ron, worrying about your sister isn't going to do anyone any good."  
  
At that point, Madame Pomfrey bustled over, accompanied by Professor McGonagall. "Miss Granger is quite right, Mr. Weasley," said the Deputy Headmistress. "Professor Snape has kindly prepared a sleeping draught for all the students healing in the hospital wing."  
  
"I'm not taking anything made by him!" Ron said, disgusted.  
  
"Mr. Weasley! I will not tolerate the slander of my colleagues!" McGonagall exclaimed, wearing a look that plainly said, 'However much I agree or do not like said colleagues myself.' "Three points from Gryffindor."  
  
She left in a swirl of robe.  
  
"Three?" remarked Ron. "Weird."  
  
Madame Pomfrey gave Ron a Look. "She is very upset. Drink."  
  
Ron wasn't to happy about it, but he took the potion. Before he dropped off to sleep, he said: "But take care of my sister! She doesn't have to go through this!"  
  
"Don't worry, Mr. Weasley," Madame Pomfrey said to the half-asleep boy. "She'll be okay." She paused a moment, waiting for his lids to shut the rest of the way. "Now, you two, scoot!"  
  
Harry and Hermione left hastily. "What was that all about? About Ginny?"  
  
Hermione beamed. "I think Ron is finally growing up," she said.  
  
***  
  
[note: watch the warm fuzzies build up and take good care of them, because if everything goes as scripted, right about here, they're going to be leaving our poor main characters for a bit...]  
  
***  
  
Crabbe and Goyle's feet fell heavy as the hulked into the dorm. Draco had been crying.  
  
They shoved him roughly to jar his train of thoughts, then both rolled up their sleeves. "Lookie here, Malfoy," they said in discordant unity, chorused not being the word for the cacophony thier twin voices caused.  
  
The small boy looked up. The Dark Mark. Figured. "So, are you proud of yourselves?" He sneered, attempting to recover his usual demeanor. His red-rimmed eyes betrayed him. "You got a mark burned into you. Aren't you so special?"  
  
They grinned demonically, taking Draco by surprise. "We know the truth now, Mudblood," Crabbe told him. "You were rejected by the Dark Lord..."  
  
"Our lord!" put in Goyle.  
  
"And your blood is filthy, just like Granger's and Creevy's." Crabbe finished. "Looks like we've got ourselves a new plaything."  
  
Draco gaped. He had been previously unaware that the two of them were capable of stringing more than two words together at a time.  
  
"Eh, eh?" Goyle grunted. "Woss he looking like that for?"  
  
At that, Draco realised his assessment was correct and the two of them had been working on that speech for the majority of the train ride here. Then, he realised that he weighed something like seventy-five pounds due to his suicide trip over vacation, and they each weighed something like three hundred. He did a bit of rapid arithmetic, realised they outweighed him culmulatively by some 525 pounds, and decided that his situation was less than the best at present. "oh shit..." was his weak comment, as his ex-guardians leered at him. 


	4. Part Four

Transcending the Bullshit, chapter 12  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I don't own them. I don't own them. (here, I try to hypnotise you into believing the truth by repeating the same thing over and over...) I don't own them. I don't own them. I don't own them.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism, now drug use/abuse, I s'pose. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.  
  
A thank-you for all the reviews; I feed them to my muse who helps me write these chapters, however long they may be in coming (hint: It's hard to write with a hungry muse).  
  
***  
  
Harry had welcomed his friends back happily, the only downside being Ron's absence.  
  
In thier dorm, Harry filled them in on some of the vacation-- about the attacks. They started going on about all the presents they'd gotten, and Harry felt a guilty lurch in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't bothered to check for presents-- come to think about it, he thought Hermione had just stacked them in his trunk for him. He blushed.  
  
"Eh, what's going on, Harry? Is there someone you fancy?" asked Seamus.  
  
"Um." said Harry. At this point he realised that he'd made a tactical error. Now, regardless of what he said, they'd assume it meant 'yes'. He reflected a moment, then decided that they'd assume 'yes' anyways. He smiled, ran over and hugged Seamus. "Of course my love, it's always been you!" His grin broadened, because there were few things they could say to counter that. He was certain that they wouldn't take it seriously.  
  
He was right. Seamus grinned back. "Alright, mate, whatever ye say."  
  
Only Hedwig, who was perched on Harry's bedpost, noticed Dean's eyes flicker towards the floor, hurt, and Hedwig wasn't saying anything.  
  
***  
  
"Cut... it... out... you guys..." Draco said, strained but attempting to sound like he could do something about it if he wanted to. Of course, it didn't work, but it made him feel a little better... if there was such thing as 'better' at that point.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle just laughed. It was a rather disheartening sound.  
  
***   
  
It was almost time for dinner when the boys let thier conversation trail off.   
  
"C'mon, let's eat!" was the general consensus. They all walked down to the dining hall.  
  
***  
  
Halfway through the meal, Harry saw Draco. The blonde was walking very close to the wall, half-crouched over as if cradling a bruise. Harry excused himself hastily on grounds of 'sorry, I need to visit the lavatory'.  
  
He met Draco (who had seen Harry and got the idea quickly), in the entrance hall. "What happened to you? You look terrible!"  
  
Draco winced slightly. "Crabbe and Goyle."  
  
"But--"  
  
"Not anymore, Potter, not anymore. Apparently I was rejected by the Dark Lord." He snorted. "Like I ever would have joined him. The idiot Longbottom could put a plan together better than him."  
  
"Eh?"  
  
"Oh, honestly, the only thing he had going for him was a Killing Curse, a bit of fear, and a talent for acting."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"No, Potter-- he spent his days conjuring butterflies. Of course, really! I think I'm in a better position to know."  
  
"How--"  
  
"Let's not get into it."  
  
"OK, but... I'm not going to let you get more hurt by hanging out with your little thugs. You're coming to my dorm tonight."  
  
"But--"  
  
"No buts. They outweigh you by what, four hundred pounds?"  
  
"Five hundred seventy five."  
  
"There you have it." Seeing the look on Draco's face, he explained. "Oh, it's perfectly safe, don't worry about it. I have an Invisibility Cloak--" Draco gasped-- "And I know *several* charms that will protect the bed. Just wake me up if you have to go to the lavatory, otherwise we're both screwed. C'mon, you're coming with me."  
  
"Now?"  
  
"If that's what happens when I let you out of my sight for eight hours, yes, now. We can get food from the house-elves later."  
  
The two boys ran off to the Gryffindor dorm.  
  
***  
  
Late that night, the two boys were cuddling, nothing more. Harry refused any more intimate contact, and Draco refused to see Madame Pomfrey. Neither could sleep easily, however.  
  
Their breath mingled as they heard a soft voice through the curtains. "Seamus?"  
  
Harry recognised it as Dean's, and perked up to listen.   
  
"I'm a bit frightened of what's happened over vacation-- can I share your bed?"  
  
"Sure, there's room enough for two."   
  
Harry's mouth dropped open as the sound of rustling bedclothes drifted across the room. He quickly recast the silence spell around his bed, just before he heard a whispered 'thanks' from Dean's direction.  
  
Draco looked at Harry. "You never told me your roommates were gay."  
  
"I-- I never knew." He looked over at the blonde. "Plus, we've only really known each other for-- how long? Two weeks since I rescued you?"  
  
Draco sighed, touching a bruise on his flank. "Sometimes I wish you hadn't."  
  
"Don't say that. If I hadn't, you'd be dead." Harry read Draco's facial expression, which was something along the lines of "Wasn't that the point?" He continued hastily, deciding to make light rather than dark of it. "Furthermore, if I hadn't rescued you... we would have both missed out on a great deal of amazing sex."  
  
"That good, eh, Potter?"  
  
"Damn close." Harry watched as the blonde winced. His tone softening, he said: "Would a kiss make it better?" [A/N-- that's my personal tag line-- whenever anyone complains, I say that, and they shut up pretty fast, usually accompanied by an emphatic 'no'. There has been, to date, exactly one person who has said yes to that question.]  
  
Draco gave Harry a Look. "What are you, nuts?"  
  
Harry returned the Look with a endearingly cute puppydog face.   
  
"Alright... only if it makes you feel better." Draco conceded, wondered why exactly he was conceding as he never conceded to anyone, then decided that Harry was an exception. He rolled over onto his back and tucked his arms behind his head, eyes closing. "Whatever makes you happy."  
  
Harry balanced carefully over the injured blonde. "I'd be happiest if you weren't hurt."  
  
Draco cocked a silver eye open. "Why? Because then you'd be kissing me for a different reason?"  
  
Harry made a face. "That wasn't the idea, but it works too." He paused. "No, seriously. It's because I care."  
  
Draco made a halfhearted derogatory comment about Gryffindors and thier moral standards, but the effect was lost as Harry proceeded to try to kiss away Draco's numerous cuts and bruises.   
  
Before they fell asleep, Draco muttered: "I'm just lucky they didn't break any bones."  
  
***  
  
Neville woke the boys up at five-thirty in the morning by running back into the dorm yelling. "The second-years! They're all gone!"  
  
Draco woke up, disgruntled, and poked Harry. "I'm *not* a morning person," he said crabbily.   
  
Harry shook his head a couple of times, listened to Neville, lifted the silencing charm, and called out to Neville. "What do you mean, they're gone?"  
  
"They've disappeared! No trace of them! Dumbledore's frantic!"  
  
Seamus's head poked out of his curtain. "Are you sure you've not misplaced them, Neville?"  
  
Neville frowned at Seamus. "It's not the time for jokes! This is really serious!"  
  
Dean's head poked out of the same curtain. Harry blatantly stared. "Uh... what are you two doing in the same bed?" He asked of both Seamus and Dean.  
  
"Sleeping, idiot!" Seamus said, as though it were obvious.  
  
"Were you sleeping... or 'sleeping'?"  
  
"Just sleeping! Geez." Dean's blush, however, made Harry less than sure of the truth in Seamus's words.  
  
"All the second years are gone?" Harry asked, suddenly anxious to change the subject. Inside the bed, Draco was under the covers, trying to look inconspicious. It was easy, he was so thin. Harry wasn't worried.  
  
Neville nodded. "All of them. Colin Creevey's going nuts."  
  
Harry looked guilty. He'd been less than kind upon several occasions to the smaller boy. "I'm sorry. What can we do?"  
  
"I don't know!" said Neville. Seamus snickered (actually, it sounded more like 'typical' to Harry, but...) and was promptly elbowed in the ribs by Dean. "Dumbledore thinks it has something to do with--" he lowered his voice-- "You-Know-Who."  
  
Harry grimaced. "Big surprise there."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Remember when Dumbledore told us he was getting stronger?"  
  
"No," Neville replied promptly. Seamus buried his head in his pillow to avoid further chastisement from Dean.  
  
"Well, he is-- he took me over break."  
  
Neville's eyes expanded to the size of soup tureens (don't you think 'saucers' is overused?) "He what?"  
  
Harry sighed heavily. "Kidnapped me. Stole me. Came into Hogwarts on a broomstick disguised as my Uncle Vernon. Well-- actually, he is my Uncle Vernon, come to think of it. But they know that now. I don't want to get into it."  
  
Neville's face showed some amount of sympathy. "Gee, Harry, I'm sorry--"  
  
"Don't talk about it." Harry's eyes were shadowed over with the experience of having seen too much. Neville read and understood the expression. He thanked his lucky stars that Harry was still sane.  
  
"How did you get away?" asked Seamus, not having had Neville's realm of experience to work with.  
  
Harry answered curtly. "Herm and Ron Summoned me back."  
  
"But-- Harry-- that's impossible!" Dean exclaimed. "You can't Summon people! It just doesn't work!"  
  
Harry looked confused. "Then how?" He shook his head. "I'm going back to bed, I'm tired. We can talk later. See you at lunch."  
  
"But Harry, we have classes today!"  
  
"Yeah, but not for another couple hours. It's five thirty AM! What were you thinking, Neville?"  
  
"Um... I couldn't get to sleep, so I went wandering, I guess."  
  
"Hmmm... is this the same Neville who offered to fight us back in first year for going after the Stone?"  
  
"I guess."  
  
"Well... see you." Harry shut the drapes and recast the Silencing spell.   
  
Draco sat up, disgusted. "So, Potter, now that I'm awake, how do you propose to get me out of a dorm full of teenage boys who are also awake?"  
  
"Um... we could be late to breakfast."  
  
"And what are we going to do in the meantime?"  
  
"I'm going to sleep." Harry rolled over and shut his eyes.  
  
Draco frowned. He was having to get used to a lot of things he wasn't sure he wanted to get used to, and being ignored was one of them. He growled softly. "No, you most certainly are not!" He rolled Harry onto his front roughly and poked him in the middle of the chest. "Tonight was a temporary reprieve. What are we going to do for the rest of my life? For that matter, what are we going to say when people ask questions? They are, Potter, and there's nothing we can do about it. And unless we make up a damn good story, there's no way I'm coming out of this alive-- unless you want to risk veritaserum, which is more certain suicide?"  
  
Harry was instantly awake.   
  
Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 13  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: THEY'RE NOT MINE! This is chapter 13, folks, 13, and I STILL don't own them, nor anything remotely resembling what they're worth. *bursts into tears* Now, see what you've done! *runs off*  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism, now drug use/abuse, I s'pose. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.  
  
A thank-you for all the reviews; I feed them to my muse who helps me write these chapters, however long they may be in coming (hint: It's hard to write with a hungry muse). Occasionally, they make me double-take, blink, and say something along the lines of "I wrote that? Oh, yeah, I wrote that!"  
  
Note: The fifth book is apparently coming out in June. Having nearly fallen off my chair upon discovering this, I felt compelled to share the rumour. *personality switch * CAN YOU BELIEVE IT????? I'M SO HAPPY! *calms down* Please read this fic in addition to the book. Unless I'm too busy reading it to write.  
  
***  
  
Oh god. I got him in trouble. No, am getting him in trouble. I can't think of anything... and, just when I thought my life was filling out there are more voids. Why... why... It's all Voldemort.  
  
I was born to kill him, wasn't I. It's just fact. I have no destiny unless I stain my hands with blood-- true, the blood is that of a murderer, but...  
  
I will no longer be the Boy who Lived. I will be, also, the Boy who Killed. People will love me for it.  
  
Half of me wonders if it isn't the right thing to do, and half of me claims the contrary.  
  
And I have a defenseless blonde curled on my pillow next to me, asking me to save him. What he doesn't know-- what no one knows-- is that I can barely save myself.  
  
Each encounter with Voldemort leaves me in the hospital wing for days.  
  
I look at my latest encounter. I ran away, the coward's path.  
  
Do I deserve to live? My mother gave her life for me.  
  
He's still watching me, and I'm going to let him down. I've let myself and so many others down, and in so many ways.  
  
Dumbledore is aging. He hides it as well as anyone can, and has sort of a glamour about him-- all anyone sees is the powerful magic he commands. While he lives, it is his to keep, but-- I fear for his life, though it is not mine to protect. How much longer will he live?  
  
Who will protect those who are young and weaker when he is gone-- for all good things must end.  
  
Something has troubled my sleep for days, now. I wonder... my own ability has been linked with Voldemort's on two seperate occasions already, and there is no promise that it will not happen again. Will my own life be forfeit to take his?  
  
Will I be strong enough to do it, if it comes to that?  
  
Will I be strong enough to face him?  
  
Will I be strong enough?  
  
***  
  
Draco had watched Harry's face long enough, trying to decipher its expressions. "Well?" he asked.  
  
Harry started. "Um..."  
  
Draco sighed. "All right. I've thought of something. Looks like Golden Boy's failed something outside of Potions class, for once." He meant it in jest.  
  
Harry, however, winced. Draco saw, then understood he'd unknowingly spiked a sore spot. It would be something he'd have to bring up-- at a later date, when both boys had less on thier minds.   
  
"Pixie dust."  
  
"Oh, not your drugs again!" Harry's face contorted, somewhere between disgust and horror. "Please tell me you're not--"  
  
"No, Potter, I haven't. But if I make it look like I was tripping all night-- well, detention is the worst they can do to me. At least that'll get me out of the dorm. Crabbe and Goyle will think nothing of it. They haven't got the intellegence."  
  
"Well... if that's your story..." Harry waved his wand. "Then you were wandering around half-dazed, and Potter intervened-- bumping into a peer in trouble. Naturally, a healing spell is in order, wouldn't you think?"  
  
Draco felt like he'd just been dipped into some holy fountain of healing. He smiled weakly. "That's what all you bloody Gryffindors would do, isn't it."  
  
Harry nodded. "Yeah." He paused. "Or, there's this." He dragged his Invisibility Cloak out from under the pillow. "We could use this."  
  
"That's a--" Draco sputtered.  
  
"Invisibility Cloak? It comes in handy, I'll tell you."  
  
"Your mates won't ask questions?"  
  
"I really, really doubt it. What with Seamus and Dean and whatever Neville was doing up at that godforsakenly early hour of the morning, I think this dorm is on a permanent unspoken 'don't ask, don't tell' policy."  
  
"You sound like that musical."  
  
"Eh?"  
  
"Guys and Dolls. Oldest established, permanent floating-- ack, never mind. Just get me the hell out of here."  
  
***  
  
Two figures cloaked in grey walked arm in arm out of mist in the Forbidden Forest. Both slouched, one carried a cat.  
  
The one without the cat spoke in a whisper shadowed with the tone of one used to a certain degree of whining. "Don't forget-- noone must know of this meeting."  
  
Stroking the cat, the other replied, "We serve the same master. I wouldn't forget." A clump of greasy hair poked out of the hood.  
  
"Well then-- at our next meeting, lover. The Dark Lord rewards those who serve him well, and I intend to be one of those favored few. "  
  
"As do I. I will see you." He strode towards the castle.  
  
The other looked about nervously, muttered an incantation to a necklace he wore, and was gone.  
  
***  
  
After breakfast, Harry found himself in Divination. He considered cutting it, then gave in with a 'what-the-hell' attitude. It's not like he had anything better to do, and it was presumably safer. Besides... he wanted to watch the people he thought he knew so well-- but apparently didn't. The class seemed like an opportunity.  
  
Five minutes in, duped by the heady perfume of the room, Harry was seriously reconsidering both the wisdom of his choice and his sanity. Even Ron wasn't there to ease the sheer boredom of the class.  
  
Professor Trelawney was up in the front of the room, perched on a pouf and peering intently into a chalice of water. Lavendar and Parvati, ever her faithful disciples, were attempting to peer over her shoulder. Harry was doing his best to ignore it all, he was getting a headache from the smoke.  
  
His efforts were thwarted rudely when the teacher let out a rather loud, disturbing squawk.  
  
"I see Harry Potter!" she screeched.   
  
Harry rolled his eyes, bracing himself for another death prediction.  
  
"And Harry Potter is--" The teacher peered for another moment, then toppled straight off of the pouf into Lavendar. This served two purposes: ruffling both her syncophants and amusing the male contingent of the class.  
  
She reemerged from underneath the table slowly. "I have never seen such a thing! This is a unique prediction!"  
  
Parvati made sounds of distress. "Is he going to die, Professor?" she asked urgently.  
  
Trelawney removed her spectacles and rubbed them slowly on some obscure outcropping of her voluminous costume. "No..." she said faintly. "He will find love at Hogwart's."  
  
Parvati squealed, and Lavendar made some attemt thereof from the carpet. "Who?" both wanted to know.  
  
"This has not been revealed to me..." Trelawney said. "But... this love... is not female... nor are the activities in which they engage in school appropriate..."  
  
At this, everyone laughed except Harry, who scowled. "Well, if we're all done with the joke?" he snapped.  
  
Professor Trelawney shook her head slowly. "It is no joke, Mr. Potter. I feel this ends today's lesson. I believe I am morally obligated to speak with Professor Dumbledore about this."  
  
Oh, shit, thought Harry. Just what I need. He packed up his books with some apprehension and walked out of the room.  
  
***  
  
Harry plunked down at the lunch table, intending to eat quickly and get away.  
  
Instead, he was surrounded by half the house. He saw Colin Creevey in the throng and groaned.  
  
It was Seamus that spoke first. "So, Harry, is there something you haven't been telling us?"  
  
***  
  
Ron woke up in the middle of the night in the hospital wing to see three dark, hooded figures around his sister's bed, poking her with thier wands. He sat bolt upright. "Get away from her!" he yelled. He could tell they weren't the Hogwart's staff.   
  
Besides, he rationalised, what person would go about hooded if that person did not have an explicit wish to conceal their identity?  
  
***  
  
The next morning, Professor McGonagall found Ronald Weasley in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, bruised heavily and unconcious.   
  
Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 14  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: Er... I haven't had access to a computer for a while, so I obviously don't own much of anything, otherwise this would have been a lot quicker in coming, due to a new computer.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism, now drug use/abuse, I s'pose. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.  
  
Note: I think this first bit comes out of order. My apologies. Hopefully, it isn't too confusing, and I can get back into the flow of things with minimal hassle. Also, my sincerest apologies to those of you who went 'pop' while awaiting this. Rest assured, this is the soonest possible release date for this, and at no fault of my own, unlike OTHER authors I could speak of (cough, JK, cough). It's not like I've been off BUYING A CASTLE or anything. Technical difficulties. I swear.  
  
***  
  
Draco walked into the Great Hall, trying for some semblance of his customary swagger, then seated himself between Crabbe and Goyle. As he expected, he recieved somewhat less than a warm welcome.  
  
'Where were you?' Crabbe asked, in a rehearsed line.  
  
Draco's line was equally rehearsed. He giggled. 'I was tripping!' He smiled inanely at the two clearly confused boys.  
  
Goyle's face contorted in his inability to understand. With some effort, he vocalised. 'What?'  
  
Pansy leaned over the table and smacked Goyle upside the head. 'Idiot! He was doing drugs.'  
  
Goyle was still flummoxed by the bi- and tri- syllabic words. Pansy shrugged. 'Look, don't sweat it. Leave everything to me.'  
  
Draco maintained his altered-mentality exterior while figuratively breaking into a cold sweat. He could avoid Crabbe and Goyle, but if they had aquired Pansy as thier leader, he was screwed. Pansy might not be visually attractive, but there was definitely something other than hairballs between her ears.   
  
He watched as her eyes narrowed. 'Don't let it happen again.'  
  
Yep. He was screwed.  
  
***  
  
Ron moaned and woke up nastily. His head was throbbing, and when he reached up, there was a lump the size of a small kitten on his left temple. Madame Pomfrey was standing over him. 'Mr. Weasley. It is ten o'clock in the evening, and you have been unconcious for Heaven knows how long. Would you very kindly explain this to us?' She softened, as if she had just realised she was actually speaking to a wounded person. 'I'm sorry. We've all been worried. Whatever happened?'  
  
Ron blanched. 'Ginny-- where is she?'  
  
'Right in her bed. What happened?' Madame Pomfrey spoke a bit more sharply.  
  
Ron shook his head to try to clear it, which was a mistake. After Madame Pomfrey waved her wand and some of the pain subsided, Ron spoke.'People-- hoods-- wearing black-- looked like they were going to curse her or something... I yelled, and the next thing I knew... it was thirty seconds ago...'  
  
The nurse frowned and ran for Dumbledore.  
  
***  
  
'Good evening, Severus. I trust you are in good health?' The voice was smooth and well-polished, and came from the direction of the fireplace.  
  
The Potions master did not turn around. 'Very well, thank you. Do sit down.'  
  
***  
  
Harry walked nervously into Dumbledore's office. 'Sir? You asked to see me?'  
  
Dumbledore paused for a moment to offer Harry a chocolate frog. 'Mr. Potter, Madame Trelawney has brought to my attention an illicit relationship that you may or may not be having yet. Would you like to share anything with me?'  
  
Harry stared for a moment. 'Professor-- I don't-- what do you mean?'  
  
The twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes flashed a bit more brightly. 'I simply wanted to know if what she mentioned was true. That the Boy Who Lived has a lover has interesting implications for the situation at hand. There are several things that you should know if--'  
  
At that point, Madame Pomfrey burst into the office. 'I'm ever so sorry, Professor, but it's urgent. Death Eaters have been in Hogwart's, leaving young Mr. Weasley in a nasty state. Something MUST be done!'  
  
Dumbledore sighed. 'Very well. Mr. Potter, please return to your dorm. I would like to see you again, if possible, tomorrow before breakfast.' His twinkle went off again. 'It is quite all right if you find yourself in a position to have to bring company.'  
  
Harry nodded and left promptly.  
  
***  
  
Draco screamed and ran. He simply was not going to put up with it any longer. Crabbe and Goyle began to chase him, but Pansy laughed. 'Let him run. He knows there's always going to be more. He has nowhere to go. He'll never go to the hospital wing.'  
  
Draco almost smiled. Pansy was only half right.  
  
***  
  
Harry had juat fallen asleep when he felt a soft body collapse onto his. His eyes flew open. One look at soft blonde hair told him who had decided to come calling. He hooked an arm under Draco's shoulders and tugged him upright. 'What happened to you?' he chided gently.  
  
Draco moaned. It really, really hurt.  
  
Harry waved his wand. 'So, what are you going to do about this? Why didn't you go to the hospital wing?'  
  
A cool, relieved sensation had spread over Draco's body. He leaned into Harry. 'Pansy did a location-charm.'  
  
'Pansy? Location charm?'  
  
Draco made a face. 'Pansy stepped in to lead Crabbe and Goyle.' Harry nodded at this. 'A location-charm is basically a spell that eliminates any magical effects in a certain area. It's supposed to be used for protection, but...'  
  
'So, if you went to the hospital wing, nothing would happen? Why wouldn't you try, though? I mean, then at least Madame Pomfrey could let Dumbledore know, and maybe help your situation?'  
  
'Suicide, Harry. I know my place. If I don't take it, then Lucius will send assassins after me.'  
  
'For a common Muggle-born?'  
  
'For a boy who perhaps knows too much and would be willing to share it. I've lived at the Manor all my life, for the most part. If I don't put up with it, then I have nowhere to go. Why do you put up with your godawful Muggle aunt and uncle?'  
  
Harry nodded. 'But this-- Vernon and Petunia have never...' He stopped for a moment to think. 'Shit. I don't have anywhere to go, either. If I go home-- I'm dead.'  
  
Draco snuggled closer. 'See? Our situations really are not that different. We're so similar... both brought up by guardians who hated us, both threatened with pain and death, both petit, both Seekers in Quidditch...'  
  
Harry sat bolt upright and stiffened. 'Don't say that.'  
  
Draco, who had just been getting really comfortable, was a bit miffed. 'Why not? It's true.'  
  
'The last person who said that to me tried to kill me shortly thereafter. It's not really a good memory.'  
  
'You don't have that many, do you?'  
  
'I have enough. More than you do.'  
  
'Mmmm... but you've had even worse than me. I don't pass out when I have to relive my worst.'  
  
'I don't know...' Harry relaxed again. 'Even if the circumstances aren't the best, though, I'm glad you're here.'  
  
Draco leaned in and brushed his lips against Harry's. 'I'm glad you're here, too.'  
  
Later on, just after Draco had fallen asleep and just before Harry did, Dumbledore's words ran through Harry's mind. 'If you find yourself in a position to bring company...'. So, the he knew. What else was there to the Headmaster of Hogwart's? Did he know more about Harry than he was letting on? Did he know more about Harry than Harry did?  
  
***  
  
The next morning, Harry rose early. He shook Draco awake. The blonde was somewhat less than amused.  
  
'Harry... mmmff... it's too early.'  
  
'I have to see Dumbledore, and we can't leave you in here alone.'  
  
Draco was awake and upright. 'Alright. But won't I be a bother? Won't it be bad that I came along?'  
  
Harry paused. 'No. I think he knows you're coming.' He threw the Invisibility cloak over them. 'Let's go, then.'  
  
***  
  
Dumbledore watched the door open and close itself. 'Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy. So glad you could make it.'  
  
Harry dropped the cloak in a heap on the floor. 'Thank you very much, sir. But-- how did you know he was coming?'  
  
Dumbledore chuckled. 'All in good time, my boy, all in good time. There are a couple things you should know.'  
  
There was an awkward silence. Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued. 'Professor Trelawney has, ah, informed me that the two of you young gentlemen are somewhat more than friends.'  
  
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Dumbledore waved it off. 'No, no, Mr. Potter, no questions. It is, however unlikely you might think this is, perfectly fine in my eyes. I encourage such relationships, though discreetly, for their emotional value in the lives of young people. You are both mature young men and I trust your judgement in these matters. Mr. Malfoy, though... your judgement in attempting to take your own life at the beginning of break was less than admirable. You were very lucky Mr. Potter found you. I trust these actions will not be repeated?'  
  
Draco nodded fervently. 'Yes, sir.'  
  
'In any event, I am extraordinarily pleased that the two of you have found each other, especially in light of the recent developments in the Slytherin dormitory.' Dumbledore's twinkle pointed itself at Draco in a good-meaning but disconcerting way. 'I understand the situation is rather sticky at present, and judge it best not to interfere.' He paused. 'There are more pressing matters at this time, though. Voldemort, as I'm sure you both know, is rising again. Mr. Potter is going to find himself involved inevitably, to my great sorrow, as has already been shown by his five encounters with Voldemort. I would have never dreamed Voldemort and your uncle would have combined form so easily-- it is a very complex spell-- but it seems it happened rather naturally. It does present an interesting problem for the two of you. Mr. Malfoy, in your relationship, you are in a dangerous position, stickier than even the one you find yourself in currently. Not only are you Muggle-born, but you are now an obvious target for Voldemort/Vernon as Harry's lover. I advise caution. As such, I have come up with a new self-defense course taught by none other than Professor Severus Snape.'  
  
Harry groaned.  
  
'He's not as bad as all that. He just has an image to maintain, like me.' Draco defended the Head of his House.  
  
Dumbledore nodded. 'He is quite over his purported hatred of James. As a matter of fact, he and one of the boys in your dorm are quite close, Mr. Potter. In any event, both of you must be trained to heal as well as defend yourselves. Certainly this will please Madame Pomfrey, as the two of you will be able to clean up your own Quidditch injuries!'  
  
Dumbledore's twinkle went off, then quieted again. 'I have also come up with a plan to stop the attacks at Hogwart's. It has come to my attention that considerable damage has been sustained by my students over the last few weeks. I cannot allow this to continue. Therefore, I have decided to gather a meeting of involved persons-- including yourselves, Professor Snape, Neville Longbottom and Ronald Weasley. It will meet Wednesday evenings at the dinner hour. I hope that this group will produce some ideas that will avert the threat. I wish you well. Oh, and Harry? There's a good healing charm that will work better on Draco's injuries. I'll have the book sent up to your dormitory as soon as I can. Thank you for your time. You may move on. There seems to be another hour and a half before breakfast, and a deserted room beneath the statue of Kimberley the Kind on the second floor? The password is Honeysuckle.'  
  
The twinkle went off for the last time before they were escorted out of the office. 


	5. A new perspective, sort of, and also, Ro...

Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 15  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: I hear that JK is richer than the Queen of England. I hope she can share. I don't own them.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifting POV, slash, angst, masochism, now drug use/abuse, I s'pose. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.  
  
Author's Note: Aaah! The Fifth Book... I can't believe... *hits JK with a stick* Don't kill him, JK, not him!  
  
***  
  
It was a few rather uneventful days later that Dumbledore made an announcement over dinner.  
  
Draco was at the end of the Slytherin table, nursing a particularly nasty cut that Harry couldn't seem to cure. He'd stopped going to his dorm at night, but Pansy was intelligent enough to find him, corner him, and torture him.  
  
It was like a dream come true when he heard the words 'dorm change' come out of the Professor's lips.   
  
'I know that you are all probably quite content in your Houses,' Dumbledore remarked, sparking a wave of bitter thought from Draco, 'but the current situation merits a change. As such, I have changed the sleeping arrangements in hope that it will prevent some damage from being done. I must request, also, that you not share your sleeping arrangements with anyone. It simply poses too much risk. You will be told your new dormitory assignments at some point during the day.'  
  
Draco rejoiced. He knew that Dumbledore was aware of the collective activities of Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle, and was thankful that he would be given a new place to hide. Also, he reflected, it would be nice to have his clothes accessible for changing in the morning, rather than in the middle of his first class of the day to avoid his assailants.  
  
***  
  
Harry was a bit perturbed. Dumbledore had quite the sense of humour, placing the entrance to his room in the hallway next to the ladder that led to the Divination classroom. Even less pleasing was the revelation that his, ah, favourite painting had been chosen to stand guard.  
  
Harry glared at Sir Cadogen. 'You again?' He had been given his room assignment, and found himself rather less than amused that the knight was to be the one guarding it.  
  
The painting nodded. 'I have been selected through virtuous trial to be the guardian of the dorm of the Boy who Lived, an honour beyond all I have encountered previously!' Sir Cadogen paused thoughtfully. 'Though I can't say I care for your roommate. He's a pretty little thing, but is a bit thin.'  
  
'He?' Harry asked. 'Who?'  
  
The knight shrugged in a cacophony of clanking metal. 'He's in there.'  
  
'Fine then. Do I need a password?'  
  
'No, good sir! As a precaution, only those who belong in the dorms are allowed in.'  
  
The painting swung forward, revealing a ladder. Harry reluctantly began to climb down, as the entrance swung shut and everything went black.  
  
He had counted the rungs-- there were thirty-six before it opened into a passage that tilted downward in a spiral.  
  
The pitch black was beginning to grate on his nerves when he saw a light in the darkness. Rather than amusing the author, he ignored the reference and determinedly walked toward it, fighting the urge to start singing and hoping like hell that he wouldn't find an insane transvestite from another planet when he walked in.  
  
He opened the door and saw three or four candles burning on a sideboard. There was a fluffy bed, upon which a slim blonde slept, shirtless and sprawled on his back across the mattress. He sported a colourful array of bruises across his chest and long cut down his left arm that was only half-healed.   
  
'Draco...' Harry murmured before diving for his wand to heal some of the damage.  
  
The bruises went fairly easily, but Harry could barely make the cut heal. Sighing, he shook Draco gently.   
  
The blonde opened his eyes a bit, yawned, and stretched lithely, re-opening his cut arm, which began to bleed again.  
  
Harry waved his wand again. 'What did they DO to you?' he asked.  
  
Draco blinked prettily. 'Um... I can't quite remember. I'm sorry, that must have been one of those times I was unconscious.'  
  
Harry conjured up a roll of bandaging and took care of the arm. 'Try not to let them do it again, though.'  
  
'I don't have much of a choice.'  
  
'I know. Just try, though, please. And be careful what you do with that arm, I can barely fix it once, let alone keep fixing it.'  
  
Draco stretched again, carefully this time, and beckoned Harry onto the bed with him. The two boys curled up together and fell asleep.  
  
***  
  
In the Ministry of Magic, Cornelius Fudge was up late, working on a speech for his upcoming press conference the following week. He had assumed that he was completely safe, but he had forgotten how old the cast-iron candelabra hanging from his ceiling above his head was. The chain had rusted through some time ago, however, because he had been too busy to take care of his office, it was a nasty shock to him when it came crashing down on his head, instantly killing him (A/N: I don't like Fudge. Sorry if any fans happen to be reading this).  
  
Percy Weasley, who happened to be next door working on a progress report about the possible effects that the sale of alcohol might have on Wizarding Society, heard the crash and rushed in immediately. Though nothing could be done for the late Minister of Magic, he called Dumbledore, who rushed out immediately to take care of matters.  
  
***  
  
After the Headmaster left, Professor McGonagall was in her study with a large mug of chamomile tea, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to sleep. However much she would have liked to hide it, she was extremely worried about the safety of her student body, even more so because she was afraid Dumbledore might not make it back.  
  
Much to her displeasure, though, just as she thought she might have been able to drift off, a knock sounded on her door.  
  
She opened the door, scowling and with her wand at ready.  
  
She found Professor Trelawney looking rather small and scared in her doorway. 'Minerva... I saw in my crystal ball that tonight, you would not be able to sleep, either. I was... lonely and frightened, and thought that we could better serve our students as a united force than separate, sleepless and brooding in our respective chambers.'  
  
Professor McGonagall looked at her colleague. 'Sibyll, you must realise I do not hold with such nonsense as divination...'  
  
Professor Trelawney shook her head. 'Even without divination, it is common sense to know that our Headmaster may or may not be returning tomorrow. I suggest, also, that you call on Severus, as I don't believe he is sleeping, either.'  
  
Professor McGonagall looked into her fireplace at Professor Trelawney's advice. She spoke sharply: 'Severus! I should like a word.'  
  
The fireplace coughed a cloud of smoke into their faces. After the smoke cleared, Professor Snape's head showed up in the flame. It looked rather disgruntled.  
  
'What is it?' the Potions teacher asked.  
  
'Cornelius Fudge has recently died-- something about an iron candelabra falling on his head. I was wondering how exactly we were going to run Hogwart's if Dumbledore finds himself the new Minister of Magic, voluntarily or not.'  
  
Snape still was wearing an extremely grouchy expression. 'Can't it wait until tomorrow?'  
  
Professor McGonagall glared at Professor Trelawney. 'I thought you said he wasn't able to sleep, either?'  
  
Professor Trelawney fidgeted nervously. 'Actually, I just checked to see which Hogwart's professors were awake...'  
  
'But then, if he's already awake, how come he insists--'  
  
The question was abruptly answered by a rich, cultured baritone from the direction of the fireplace. 'Severus, darling, are you coming back?'  
  
Professor McGonagall stared incredulously at Snape. 'Was that... Lucius Malfoy?'  
  
Snape suddenly looked rather uncomfortable. 'Minerva, I regret to leave you, however, I'm quite certain that this can all be discussed tomorrow.' Pointedly, he said 'Good night' before his head left the fireplace, leaving Professor McGonagall staring into the flames.  
  
***  
  
At three o'clock in the morning, Professor Dumbledore smiled. 'Then it's all settled. Arthur Weasley will become the new Minister of Magic. Excellent. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a school to run.'  
  
***  
  
Ginny Weasley awoke around four o'clock in the morning, rubbed her eyes, and stepped out of bed. She felt rather hungry, and so decided to go downstairs to the kitchen for a cheese sandwich and a mug of hot chocolate.  
  
When she reached the kitchen, she was met by Dobby, who blocked the entranceway, assuring the youngest Weasley that she would do better to wait for him to get her something, rather than go inside.  
  
However, Dobby's body was not enough to completely obscure the scene in the kitchen-- approximately half of the house-elves were lying on the floor, bleeding.   
  
She thanked Dobby for his effort and ran off to find Dumbledore.  
  
***  
  
The next morning, Harry woke up with a contented, warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. He rolled out of bed, showered, and dressed before waking Draco, who rolled over, muttering something about it being too early in the morning, until Harry threatened to hex him.  
  
Draco sat bolt upright. A note had appeared on the sideboard and was glowing a nasty shade of violent orange that would have looked fine in Ron's room but was glaringly out of place in the room, which was decorated in pale green and white.  
  
Harry absently picked it up and began to read it. After a moment, he looked up. Draco was halfway out of his shower, wearing a fluffy white towel. 'We have our first self-defence class after breakfast today,' Harry told him.   
  
Draco walked across the room and began to get dressed. 'Where is it?'  
  
'It's in the second dungeon to the left of the Potions classroom, instead of Care of Magical Creatures.'  
  
Draco finished pulling his robe on. 'Excellent!'  
  
Harry looked hurt. 'What?'  
  
'It's not like it's a particularly good class. It's nothing against Hagrid, Harry, but that class is somewhat of a joke.'  
  
Harry sighed. 'Still.'  
  
***  
  
At breakfast that morning, the students found that the House tables had disappeared, to be replaced with small table with four spots each. Hermione rushed over when she saw Harry walk in with Draco. She grabbed them both by the wrist and dragged them over to a table she was sharing with Padma Patil.  
  
'This is my roommate, Harry. I hope you two get along!'  
  
Padma glared at both boys sourly, but perked up when plates of food appeared at the table.  
  
There was little conversation until two strange owls swooped over thier table, delivering a black envelope to each Harry and Draco. They shrugged and opened them.  
  
'CRUCIATUS!'  
  
Harry and Draco both fell backward with the unexpected pain, their chairs crashing noisily on the floor. Dumbledore rushed over immediately and waved his wand. The pain stopped, and Harry and Draco righted themselves, both panting and shaken.  
  
Dumbledore looked concerned. 'I think you both had better come with me,' he said, beckoning the two boys out of the Great Hall.   
  
Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 16  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Sorry. There is no money to be made suing me.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism, now drug use/abuse, I s'pose. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.  
  
Notes:  
  
Kami-sama! Thank you very much! I feel so stupid now, he, he, I should know it's Crucio, but... rrrargh. This shows something. This shows very much that I haven't read any of the Harry Potter books in far too long. Comes of being an anime addict. Go figure. Sorry. I cannot believe I made such a stupid mistake... now, should I fix it, or leave it, or keep being wrong...?  
  
I'm going to try to pretend the fifth book didn't happen because it kinda fucks with the fic. I'm sure that you all can understand it. *makes face at JK* I was here, well, not first, but before book 5! Or, I could pretend it's Umbridge/Petunia instead of Skeeter/Petunia, which actually sort of works better, but... arrgh. I don't feel like making the effort, and it would be kinda weird to change the storyline. Or, maybe I'll just decide what I want to take from the fifth book. Whatever.  
  
***  
  
Dumbledore led the two boys out of the Great Hall. 'I think you two had best be careful. Another attack like that, were I not there, could prove disastrous. Thus, it is doubly important that you two are working on your extra lessons with Professor Snape. However, there is a spell designed to check mail, developed by celebrity witches and wizards sick of getting hexes in an envelope. I shall instruct Snape to teach it to you.' He paused to unwrap a lemon drop. 'Are you both all right?'  
  
Harry nodded, Draco stared into space, shaking slightly.  
  
Dumbledore sighed. 'Ah well, you had best be off. Enjoy your lessons.'  
  
Both boys listlessly wandered off to the dungeons to find Professor Snape.  
  
***  
  
After a long lesson during which Snape taught them various warding spells in addition to the one that Dumbledore had taught them and a rather uneventful lunch, Harry and Draco parted ways-- Draco to History of Magic, and Harry to Divination.  
  
***  
  
Pansy waited for Draco to fall asleep before she discreetly pulled out her wand. In his binder, she knew, he kept his store of Pixie. With a nimble wave of it and a nasty smirk, she replaced the powder with the rather potent aphrodisiac that her father had sent her upon her request.  
  
***   
  
Later that day, during dinner, Harry had fallen asleep. Darco shrugged and tipped some of his Pixie into Harry's goblet of pumpkin juice before doing the same to his own. The rest of the meal, after Hermione prodded him awake with Padma's quill, went quickly.  
  
***  
  
Pansy was in her new solitary dorm around eleven. She glanced at the hands of her watch: she had spelled the packet to let her know when Draco had used it. Somewhat to her disappointment, he had chosen not to do so over breakfast, but she was content that it was, indeed, about to work, and that it would not wear off until Draco had found a lover to do something about it.  
  
***  
  
Neither Harry nor Draco, to the latter's great surprise, showed any effect to the drug. Harry curled up into Draco's side, his head on the latter's chest and fell asleep almost instantly. The new warding spells that Snape had taught them eased the worry of Voldemort in the back of Harry's mind.   
  
Draco, however, had other things on his mind, things that could not be eased by a Silencing Spell or the Olive Hex Ward.   
  
It was ten-forty-five by the lumnescent clock that Harry had conjured next to the bed. Draco had been lying awake for a bit now, trying to figure out just why the Pixie had had no effect on either of them. It was only when he gave up trying to figure out what had gone wrong and started to drift off to sleep when Harry reawakened with a soft moan and leaned over to kiss Draco.  
  
Draco was more than a little bit surprised, but he felt himself responding rapidly to Harry's tongue and slid over, closer to his boyfriend, to achieve closer contact.   
  
He was, however, shocked when Harry started tugging impatiently at the buttons down the front of his pyjamas. They had agreed to abstain from this sort of activity on weeknights because they did have appearances to maintain and classes to stay awake in-- but, somehow, tonight he didn't want to. The pyjama top ripped down the front, and Harry wrestled Draco forcefully out of it the rest of the way. His mouth descended on Draco's chest urgently, and the latter decided that it would be perfectly permissible to return the conduct, ripping Harry's shirt from sleeve to sleeve, then down the front. It fell off neatly, in a pile under Harry. Draco went for Harry's throat as Harry began fiddling with his pants, sliding cold hands under the waistband to rest on hipbones that jutted perhaps a bit too much... it hadn't been long enough since vacation for Draco to regain the weight he had lost, especially with the added trauma of Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy weighing heavily on his body's already-depleted resources.   
  
Draco 'mmm'ed lightly as he felt Harry's Quidditch-hardened hands slowly warm to his skin. It felt so good, and, despite the fact that they had class the next day and the timing was far from perfect, he needed the contact. Were it a bit earlier in the day, he would have wondered at his sudden change of mood-- slightly sleepy to instantly aroused-- and would have asked questions. He was tired enough not to ask any funny questions, and instead attempted to achieve the maximum amount of physical contact possible.   
  
Some time later (yes, not only am I a lazy author, I'm trying not to push my luck), Harry shifted, rolling Draco onto his stomach. Draco's pyjama bottoms were in seven or eight pieces in the corner of the room. Harry's were only in two or three, one of which had landed on the sideboard in a crumpled heap. Draco twisted his neck back, seeking Harry's lips even as he was pressed hard onto the mattress with Harry's hand gracing his behind.   
  
A bit later, sometime after Harry had moved his lips off Draco's to bite the tender flesh joining neck to shoulder, Draco moaned for the first time and found that he could not stop. A river of sound that stopped only when he choked on breath caught deep in his throat poured from between pale, bruised, and rather swollen lips.  
  
Afterwards, neither Harry nor Draco knew quite what to call it, be it lovemaking, fucking, or just plain sex, but whatever it was called, it was savage (and for that reason alone, it had been electric).  
  
***  
  
The next morning, Draco woke some time before dawn; his ass hurt. The previous night's activity became as clear as the oversized diamonds in the necklace his father had bought his mother as he recalled the unusual mood swing he had experienced the previous night and Pansy's smirk after History of Magic. The girl had replaced the Pixie with an aphrodisiac, and probably a highly illegal one, for the level of potency at which it worked. He would have to explain the situation to Harry. He shook the other boy gently.  
  
"WHAT?" exclaimed Harry after Draco had spoken his piece. "You drugged my pumpkin juice?"  
  
"I was only trying to get you to loosen up about the drug thing!" Draco replied in self-defense.  
  
"That was exactly the wrong way to go about it. As a matter of fact, I think this should be a lesson to you about how dangerous drugs can be. One of us could be seriously hurt right now, simply because you felt it was important to meddle with your state of mind."  
  
Draco looked down ruefully. Harry was right, he had been far too lax in a matter that he perhaps should not have been dabbling in at all. Through a haze of guilt, he nodded.  
  
"Also, Draco, how am I supposed to trust you if you are trying to drug me without my knowledge? Even if it had turned out as you had planned, I still wouldn't be able to trust you fully, and trust is essential, especially now that we're facing Voldemort. How are either of us supposed to sleep if we can't trust the other?"  
  
Draco nodded again. Harry was right, again, and it was something he shouldn't've done. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he said lamely.  
  
Harry sighed. "You should have thought it all the way through before you tried it." He paused to take a deep breath. "That's not quite what I meant to say. Draco, I can't have a relationship with someone I can't trust completely. I'm obviously going to be the only one in Voldemort's way in the future, and it's not only my life but the life of my friends if I am betrayed. I'm sorry, but... this has to stop. Not if I can't trust you."  
  
Draco stared at Harry in disbelief. "You didn't seem to mind when you were shagging me last night." His tone was subdued.  
  
"Last night, you had drugged me!" Harry said, somewhat hysterically. He took a few breaths to calm himself. "I thought we had something, but you betrayed my trust. You'll have to earn it back if you want to get it back-- if it was even there in the first place." He rose, dressed quickly, and left the room.  
  
Draco was left staring at the door, shock and pain cast over his face. The pride that had been forced on him as he grew up was battling the urge to run after Harry and beg him to tell him what he could do to earn back the trust he had carelessly tossed aside. Old habits die hard. He got ready for the day quickly and went to breakfast, immersed in indecision.  
  
***  
  
Pansy was sitting at breakfast, waiting for Draco gleefully. There was no way he could have found a lover overnight, she told herself, before breakfast. He was never quite awake before he'd eaten. He'd find one quickly in all probability, but she'd at least get to see him squirm during breakfast.  
  
When her target walked in totally comfortably, if lost in thought, Pansy was confused. The confusion lasted most of the day until she figured it out. Draco already had a lover, one he must be sharing a dorm with. The only question was this: who was it?  
  
Pansy resolved to find out. This could prove to be a new and very interesting way to torture him. 


	6. A chapter Waiting for the Plot to Stew w...

Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 17  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Sorry. There is no money to be made suing me.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism, now drug use/abuse, I s'pose. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.  
  
Little Thank-You Note: Everyone who reviews anything is an amazing person, with kudos if you capitalise and spell things correctly. Thanks to all of you who have reviewed, and many apologies to those of you that have been patiently waiting... it's almost odd, being on the keyboard side of a piece of fanfiction, getting comments on a peice of writing that are not made in red pen... it's weird when you turn on your computer and try to start writing, but first you blink twice when you're getting your place and say "wait... I wrote that?" Anyway, I don't think I could be writing this still if all you beautiful people hadn't reviewed. Thanks for giving me the Inspiration to Go On and Persevere. I love you all.  
  
***  
  
Harry was listlessly gnawing on the end of his quill in Charms when Hermione poked him ruthlessly.   
  
"What?" he asked.  
  
"Something's happened." She informed him. "As your friend, I'd like to know what it is."  
  
He stared, blank, having been jolted from brooding about a certain blonde Slytherin. "Nothing happened," he told her dully.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's about Draco, isn't it."  
  
Harry continued staring.  
  
Hermione shook her head. "Of course it is. Did you two fight? I can respect you if you don't want to talk about it, but it usually helps."  
  
Harry sighed and began chewing on his quill again, concentrating on a point apparently just beyond Hermione's nose.  
  
Hermione gave up and snatched the quill from him. He jumped, jarred again. "Sorry, Herm. Later?"  
  
She regarded him with worry in her expression, then nodded. "Alright, Harry. Later."  
  
***  
  
Meanwhile, in his Runes class, Draco was in a similar state of comatose thinking, trying to see where the flaw in his plan was. True, in twenty-twenty hindsight, drugging Harry's pumpkin juice seemed less than a good idea, but it didn't fully account for the intense blast of frigid air that his boyfriend-- ex-boyfriend?-- had exuded that morning in his general direction. Muttering softly to himself, he resolved to find some way to make amends and regain the love that he had known for less than a month, but still felt he could not live-- or rather, had no wish to live-- without.  
  
***  
  
During the lunch period, Hermione snagged Harry and dragged him, along with thier food, to the hospital wing and plunked him firmly down beside Ron's bed. He was almost better, but Madame Pomfrey had insisted that he stay put until he was fully healed.  
  
She turned to Ron and explained the situation briefly, then turned on Harry. "It's later. Spill."  
  
Harry took a deep breath. "Last night, he drugged my pumpkin juice."  
  
His two best friends stared at him for a few beats before Hermione said carefully, "He did what?"  
  
"He drugged my pumpkin juice. I don't know why he did it-- this morning, he said something about wanting me to 'loosen up about the drug thing', whatever that means, but anyway, it turned out to be a really strong aphrodisiac so last night I shagged him so hard and it was amazing but I can't trust anyone who would drug me like that without asking!" As the run-on sentence continued, Harry's voice accelerated until he was only barely understandable.  
  
Several beats of silence ensued after Harry's explaination. Then, Hermione said slowly: "What drug thing?"  
  
"He's always going on about this drug I'd never heard of called Pixie... says it's not dangerous at all, that it's okay, that I should try it. But I keep telling him no, it can't be a good thing, it messes with your head, it's not natural. So... I guess he was trying to prove it was OK?"  
  
"He's never drugged you before?" asked Ron.  
  
"N-" Harry began. He paused. "Wait... yes, he did. I can't belive I overlooked that."  
  
Both Hermione's and Ron's eyes popped out of their heads, purely for effect. "HE'S DRUGGED YOU BEFORE?"  
  
"It was the last day of the Christmas holidays. He slipped some anti-stress thing into my drink because I was nervous about sex and..."  
  
Ron cut him off. "Whoa, there, mate, too much information! I don't need to hear about your sex life!"  
  
Hermione pouted, and said something about it being entertaining. Ron smacked her upside the head and made a derogatory comment about voyeurism. Hermione retorted that were it her and another girl, he'd be begging for details. Ron conceded the point in the face of Hermione's overwhelming logic and hastily returned to the subject on hand. "So, what happened was, our favourite Malfoy--"  
  
Harry protested. "He's not a Malfoy. Not really."  
  
"Well, then. Dear old Draco's been messing with the liquids you've been drinking, and you..." Ron paused a moment, searching for the correct interpretation, leaving it an open statement if Harry wanted to elaborate.  
  
"He flipped out." Hermione put in smartly. "Didn't you?"  
  
Harry nodded sheepishly. "I guess I did... I told him that if he was going to do that sort of thing, I couldn't trust him... and without trust, especially at this point in time, you can't have a relationship."  
  
"But he's drugged you before... you weren't upset with him then?" Hermione asked.  
  
"No, because... because it worked out so well, and because I had to go back to my dorm early the next morning because he isn't out. He did it because it was what I needed... at that point, I trusted him. I mean, I freaked out a little bit when he first told me, but then he explained his reasons and it all made sense. They were good reasons. He wasn't trying to hurt me," Harry said.  
  
"This time, though, you are upset with him." Hermione pointed out.  
  
"This time is different!" Harry protested.   
  
"How so?"  
  
Harry faltered. "I'd said 'no' before to Pixie..."  
  
"But you'd said 'no' before the first time to the sex, hadn't you? And that was what he was trying to fix?" Hermione said, guessing based on intuition.  
  
Harry nodded. "But that time he was right. This time, he wasn't... and besides, look what happened!"  
  
"Harry, do you honestly believe he was trying to hurt you?" Hermione asked.  
  
"That's what easily could have happened!"  
  
"That's not what I asked. I asked, do you honestly believe he was trying to hurt you?" Hermione pressed.  
  
Harry paused for a minute, lost in his own thoughts while his two best friends looked on expectantly. After a while, he said, "No. I don't really think he was trying to hurt me... but... what he did..."  
  
Hermione interrupted. "Harry. I agree that Draco didn't make the right choice in drugging your pumpkin juice, but no matter what happened, he wasn't trying to hurt you. You had set a precedent for that sort of thing by not going into why his slipping things into your drinks made you feel uncomfortable because it turned out well the first time. You probably should have talked the issue out then. However, you didn't, and now you're upset with him because he made a bad decision. You're also lonely and miserable without him, and instead of telling him why you're upset, you've just dropped him. I sincerely hope the two of you can work this out, because you will both be much happier when you do. I'm not saying it's going to be easy, and I'm not saying it's going to be done quickly, but Harry, please, don't be a thick-headed idiot and screw your relationship up over a misunderstanding!"  
  
The two boys stared at her in an expression that was somewhere in the range of awe-and-admiration. "Wow, Hermione," said Ron.  
  
"Thanks for hearing me out, guys," said Harry. "I'll definitely think about what you said, Hermione. I'm not making any promises, though."  
  
Hermione smiled. "That's okay, Harry. I didn't ask for any."  
  
***  
  
When Harry got back to his room later that night, Draco was already curled up in the covers, dead to the world.  
  
"Um," said Harry.  
  
Draco shifted in his sleep, curling more tightly around a pillow he was clutching against his chest and making a small kittenlike noise.  
  
"Um," Harry said again. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do, but it was winter, and the floor looked awfully cold, so he slipped into the side of the bed that Draco was not occupying.  
  
Later that night, Harry woke up and found that he was a bit cold. Draco, during the course of the night, had managed to steal all the blankets on the bed, leaving none on the side that Harry was on. Harry wavered briefly between upholding his morals or snuggling up to Draco for some warmth, then decided in favor of keeping comfortable. He rolled over and slid his arms around the sleeping boy, who relaxed into the warmth and fell into a deeper sleep.  
  
***  
  
The next morning, Harry woke up with a pair of silver eyes gazing into his.  
  
"So, does this mean you've forgiven me?" asked Draco hopefully.  
  
Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 18  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: Don't sue me, I'm only one of the many writers of fanfiction there are... go find someone else to bother, someone who thinks they DO own them.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism, now drug use/abuse, I s'pose. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.  
  
Note: Yipe! Reviews! Thank-you ever so much! (*feeds them hastily to her muse, who eats them.  
  
Muse: Mmm! Tastes like chicken!)  
  
"It's not cheating, it's creatively winning."  
  
-Me  
  
***  
  
"No," said Harry. "Yes," he continued, "um, sort of."  
  
Draco blinked. "What?"  
  
"I don't know. I talked with Hermione and Ron, and I'm not really angry at you, but... I'm confused."  
  
"What about?"  
  
"You, us, everything. I'm not comfortable with the way you resort to potions without telling me. Night before last was the second time. The first time, I didn't bring it up because everything worked out OK and I didn't see the problem. But... the other night showed me just how wrong things could have gone. What would have happened if you tried that when we were still in separate domitories?"  
  
He left the question open, and the two of them lay in silence.   
  
After a minute or so, Draco spoke. "Oh," he said lamely. "But--"  
  
"Where are you finding 'but's, Draco? It's perfectly clear. Omitting facts is the same thing as lying."  
  
"I didn't think anything like that would happen. I thought it would remove the issue."  
  
"Thinking was apparently not the greater part of what you did. I am now even more opposed to your 'safe' drug, because it has become clear that there still are risks to it."  
  
"Constant vigilance, eh, Potter?"  
  
Harry started. "Moody? Well, he's right. Talking of him, do I need to start drinking out of a hip flask, or are you going to cut it out?"  
  
Draco winced. Visibly. "I'm sorry." He seemed to shrink from small to smaller. His too-pale skin stepped another shade closer to translucent. "I'm sorry."  
  
Harry didn't say anything. Silently, he dressed for the day, leaving Draco curled up on the bed.  
  
***   
  
Harry had no sooner stepped beyond the portrait when Hedwig came whizzing down the corridor and hit him in the forehead, leaving a claw print over his scar. She hooted apologetically and proffered a neat little slip of paper tied around her leg. Harry struggled with the knot a moment, then unfolded the parchment. It was unsigned, but the perfect tie and the tiny, even script marked it as Hermione's. It had one word on it: 'Pansy'. Harry found himself confused.  
  
***  
  
Two men, a cat, and a girl were conversing furtively in the shadows behind Hagrid's hut. The sun had a few minutes yet before it peeked beyond the trees to grant its light to the world. Hagrid himself was off somewhere deep in the forest at that point, the man to whom the cat belonged had arranged a disturbance. The half-giant was sure to take the bait; they were safe.  
  
"I need that information. I know you two might not care for taking orders from one as young as I am, but I am sure my status far outranks that of a traitor and a Squib," the girl hissed. "Get it to me, or my Lord shall be greatly displeased.  
  
Filch conceded the point without a fuss. The other man looked like he was going to argue; his arm had come up and he was about to gesture with the hand that was a gift to him. The girl tried to arch an eyebrow disdainfully. She ended up looking like a Picasso painting of a rather heavy lady that he had washed and then spilled ketchup on. Before the man could say anything, the cat yowled.   
  
"It will be done," the second man said reluctantly. He disappeared into the forest.  
  
The others began the walk back to the castle.  
  
The girl glared at the first man. "I thought you said the half-breed was taken care of."  
  
"I did my best."  
  
"I should have known a Squib would be good for nothing." She gave him a dirty look. "Prove yourself useful or it will be your life."  
  
***  
  
Harry slipped into the empty seat between Hermione and Padma at breakfast. Ron was sitting across the table. Harry made to ask Hermione about the note she had sent him, but she shook her head vigorously, and he substituted a hearty "Ron! It's good to see you!" instead.  
  
Ron shook his head as if he were trying to brush off the sentiment. "They'd better lay off my sister."  
  
Harry failed to see the relevance in that and said so.  
  
"I've been thinking about it a lot," said Ron vaguely. "They always go after the weak ones, the ones who can't fight back."  
  
Padma's chair scraped back, grating harshly against the stone floor of the Great Hall. "I'll be seeing you," she told Hermione, making a hasty exit. Half her breakfast lay unconsumed on her plate.  
  
Ron stared at the empty chair for a minute, then spoke. "Scared her off, did I?"  
  
Hermione hastily began telling him that it was all right, that it was none of his fault.  
  
Harry left to get early to Charms, sensing that his presence was complicating the situation.  
  
***  
  
Draco had uncurled, and it didn't feel good. He was cold, and he needed something warm to hug. The pillows seemed to have been kicked off the bed in the night, so he reached down to retrieve one. It was the best he could do, he reasoned, and better than being terribly lonely without the pillow. His forearm scraped against the metal bedframe, and he drew it back towards him, startled. A thin line of blood was glistening on a smooth diagonal. To his surprise, the pain felt good. Something to take his mind off the void that ran deep within him because Harry wasn't there. He snagged the pillow off the floor on the second try and accio'd his Potions knife across the room to see just what he thought of these new sensations. He'd never tried anything like it before that one suicidal episode that had drawn Harry to him. Harry had saved his life, and he had paid it back by drugging him. A shock of guilt passed through him, but he shoved it aside. He couldn't remember if Harry had ever told him not to cut-- but it couldn't matter, Harry was gone now, and Draco wasn't sure if Harry was ever coming back. If it felt good, why not do it? His life seemed destined to be short, anyway.  
  
He dragged the knife across his skin. Blood welled easily in its wake; he kept the knife perfectly sharpened because Potions had always been a joy to him. It was good. He brought the knife to his lips and tasted the heady iron-tang of blood. He brought the knife across his arm again in an aimless design. The blood tasted... like nothing he had a word for, and the pain was exquisite. It was so easy to trade emotions for physical pain, so easy. He did it again. And again...  
  
Half an hour later, the blood was tinting the pillow red and Draco felt somewhere between slightly drunk, hysterical, and dizzy. He was completely mesmerised by the glint of the knife, the glistendrip of wet blood, and the matte finish when the blood dried. The taste of it was on his tongue, and he hungered for more, like some creature of the night.  
  
***  
  
Hermione, Harry, and Ron were in a corner in the Charms room.  
  
"What was that note about?" Harry asked casually, waving his wand perfunctorily at the small statue they were performing Twinkle charms on.  
  
"Pansy," Hermione said, neatly lighting up the eyes of her statue. It reminded Harry of Dumbledore for an uneasy moment before he turned his attention back on his friend. "She's going to have it in for you."  
  
Harry dropped his wand and bent beneath the desk quickly to avoid attracting Professor Flitwick's attention. "Yes?" he prodded.  
  
"Now that Draco's no longer the Slytherin Golden Boy, they're all picking on him. You said Pansy switched Pixie with an aphrodisiac. She probably knew when he used it-- and will want to know who he used to alleviate the effects of it. As much as she looks and acts like a dog, she has connections to power. Sooner or later, she's going to figure out it's you. Sooner or later, you're both going to be in serious trouble."  
  
At that, Harry dropped his wand again and knocked his statue and ink bottle onto the floor, where they shattered.   
  
"Reparo!" Hermione hissed, and they flew back into one piece each. The ink, however, was lost. Harry retrieved the bottle and the statue hastily and waited a moment before speaking to Hermione again. He concentrated on the charm and managed to fix a weak glimmer on the statue's rump, not quite where he was aiming, but it worked: Professor Flitwick, who had been watching them, returned to fixing Neville's statues and fixing the surprisingly powerful Twinkle charms that the chubby boy had managed to stick everywhere but the statue.  
  
"Are you serious?" Harry asked, once he was certain Professor Flitwick was suitably distracted.  
  
Hermione gave him a Look. "Would I joke about something like that?" she asked.  
  
"Then you're going to help me?"  
  
"Isn't that what friends are for?"  
  
***  
  
Harry returned to his room after Charms to refill his ink bottle. He was met by the sight of Draco draped over a pillow, unconcious and still bleeding. He dropped the bottle again in favour of Draco, and rushed the latter to the Hospital Wing. Judging from the size of the blood stain, the boy had been bleeding far too long and it didn't look good.  
  
Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 19  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: What would you do if I said I DID own it? *notices a large horde of torch-and-pitchfork bearing lawyers chanting "Kill the fanfiction author" over and over* Um, scratch that. Not mine, not mine! I swear! Eeep! (gets pushed out of sight)  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifiting POV, slash, angst, masochism, now drug use/abuse, I s'pose. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.  
  
A/N: I'm really not happy with this chapter. My random idea generator seems to be broken. Hit me with a stick; I'm sorry.  
  
***  
  
Madame Pomfey was in tears. Harry knew he had never seen her so flustered and helpless before. He had also never seen her unable to help someone before.   
  
"I can't stop the bleeding!" she wailed, clutching at her wand. "None of the spells I know work!" She collapsed on the floor, sobbing.  
  
Harry stared at her for a moment, then it hit him somewhere in the pit of his stomach like a baseball thrown too fast. The location charm. This was all Pansy's fault. He made a hasty vow to do something very umpleasant to the girl, then grabbed Draco and Madame Pomfrey's wrist and dragged them both down the hall. "Try again, here," he begged.  
  
It took her a few minutes to get calmed down. Harry was beginning to get frantic himself, watching the thickened blood ooze down Draco's arm. A few waves of her wand, and Draco's arm was magically healed. Madame Pomfrey's shock and panic began to dissipate into confusion, and Harry braced himself.  
  
"Why was I unable to Heal Mr. Malfoy in the Hospital Wing, but was able to here, in an unused classroom down the hall?" asked Madame Pomfrey.  
  
Harry had known it was coming. There was no was Madame Pomfrey wouldn't have asked it. It was inevitable. He'd been thinking for the past fifteen minutes about what he was going to say in between bouts of frenzied worrying, and he still didn't have a story that would keep everyone safe and out of trouble. "I don't know."  
  
"You were the one who suggested that I move him here," Madame Pomfrey pointed out. "What do you know that I don't?"  
  
Harry winced, not sure if he was betraying something he shouldn't. "Draco mentioned something to me about a Location Charm."  
  
Madame Pomfrey narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "A Location Charm? Mr. Potter, that is very advanced magic. I doubt that anyone in this school except perhaps the Headmaster could perform it. Are you suggesting that Dumbledore has done something to Mr. Malfoy to prevent him from recieving care?"  
  
"Draco said Pansy did it, I don't know, he just mentioned it to me..." Harry clapped his hand over his mouth. Something told him Draco would rather bear his pain alone than have well-meaning teachers try to help him.  
  
Madame gave Harry a funny look. The boy had the most interesting storys for everything. She resolved to ask as little as possible of him. She pointed her wand at Draco again. "Finite Incantatem!" she said and picked him up. "Let us see if this helps anything."  
  
Harry felt like an idiot as he followed Madame Pomfrey back down the hall to the Hospital Wing. Finite Incantatem, he should have tried it. He watched sulkily as the nurse set up a blood transfusion for the unconcious blonde.   
  
***  
  
Three hours later, Harry jolted awake. He was still in the hospital wing next to Draco, and his common sense was on his shoulder hitting him on the head with an oversized rubber fish.  
  
"Quit it," he muttered sleepily.   
  
His common sense did not desist. It began whispering things in his ear, things like "Weren't you mad at him?" and "You know, you're missing class."  
  
Harry sat bolt upright, dragging Draco's hand with him. "Damnit," he said.  
  
Draco woke up at the tug on his arm. Grey eyes opened and glanced over next to him, where Harry sat, looking spooked.  
  
"Mmm... so you're not mad at me?"  
  
Harry thought about this for a while. He really wasn't mad about the aphrodisiac anymore. "Yes," he said finally, "but for a completely different reason."  
  
Draco's expression changed from hopeful to confused. "Huh?"  
  
"The self-mutilation has got to stop. Cut it out; I was worried."  
  
"I'm sorry," said Draco automatically. "And I promise I'll never drug you again."  
  
Harry nodded. "Somehow, I didn't think you would." He leaned down to press a soft kiss against Draco's forehead, but the blonde had other ideas. He snagged Harry and kissed him firmly.  
  
At that point, Pansy walked into the Hospital Wing with a light scratch on her arm from Herbology and shrieked. "Potter?" She left at a run, somewhere between devious, surprised, and confused.  
  
"Oh shit," said Harry.  
  
***  
  
Filch was wandering the hallways when Pansy ran into him. He started. "I have information for you."  
  
"It's Potter," she said simply. "I just caught them snogging in the Hospital Wing."  
  
"That's not all," said Filch, smirking nastily. "Let me tell you..."  
  
***  
  
Later that evening, Harry had returned to the common room and was slumped over a desk when Hermione came up to him.  
  
"What is it? Why weren't you in class?"  
  
"Draco cut himself, so I took him to the hospital wing. Pansy walked in on us."  
  
Hermione stared as Harry rushed out of the room, an anguished expression on his face.  
  
***  
  
Draco was restless. He was feeling much better, and he wanted out of the hospital wing. Madame Pomfey was driving him batty. He slipped into a pair of comfortable pajama pants and disappeared out the window. He was going to go flying.  
  
***  
  
Harry was on his Firebolt, swooping restlessly around the Quidditch pitch. He wanted to a) kill Pansy and b) shag Draco. Instead, he was alone with his broomstick and the night. He sighed, tried to repress his feelings and force himself into perfecting the new Quidditch move Ron had told him about earlier that day.  
  
***  
  
Draco smirked when he reached the Quidditch Pitch. There was exactly the person he wanted to see, looking very nice indeed on the best racing broom made yet. He caressed the handle of his Nimbus 2001 and settled in to watch the show.  
  
***  
  
It was about half an hour later when the voice drifted out of the darkness by the Quidditch stands. "Hey, Potter, looking good."  
  
Harry froze. Upside down. He would recognise that sneering voice anywhere. Draco. After a moment, he righted himself and peered into the darkness. He could barely make out a slim, pale figure on a broomstick hovering a few feet above the bleachers. He dove.  
  
The figure moved in the opposite direction.  
  
"Catch me... if you can!" Draco told him, already halfway across the pitch.  
  
A short, sweaty chase later, Harry caught Draco. The Nimbus really was no match for the Firebolt, but Draco had put up a good fight.   
  
They steered their brooms toward the ground, where Harry pounced Draco. A flashbulb went off, and as Harry sat up, he could see a shadowy figure scurrying off into the Forbidden Forest. Not Colin Creevey, then, he thought darkly. We're screwed. He voiced the thought.   
  
"Yeah," said Draco. "We are. I'm dead, and you're more ridiculed than you already have been. What do you plan to do about it?"  
  
Harry frowned. "How does I have no idea sound?" he asked.  
  
"Not particularly good," Draco told him.  
  
"Do you have any idea?"  
  
"No."  
  
They sat in silence, both worried and trying to comfort the other. The silence stretched longer... and longer...  
  
Finally, Harry said something. "This isn't making things any better."  
  
"Do you have any brilliant ideas now then, Wonder Boy?" The tone was sarcastic.  
  
"Not any that will solve anything. I do have a few that might make us feel better, though..."  
  
Draco smirked in the darkness. "I think I'm beginning to like the way you think. Maybe you should have been a Slytherin... your mind seems to be fixated on the things you want."  
  
"Shut up," Harry said. "It's all your fault. You're making me think like this."  
  
"I do it on purpose. I'm still the evil, nasty, scheming one."  
  
Harry smiled. "I thought you were over that."  
  
"Where'd you get that idea?"  
  
"I read that journal that was next to you when you went suicidal earlier. Something about transcending the bullshit."  
  
"Yeah, well, a lot of the things my father says are bullshit. Slytherin-type badass isn't."  
  
Harry shook his head and kissed Draco. The flashbulb went off again. This time, Harry ignored it; the damage had been done.  
  
"My father will flip if he ever sees those pictures," Draco whined after a minute. Harry ignored him. Draco was glad.  
  
***  
  
Draco was right; his father would flip. However, judging from what he, Snape, and Neville were doing at the moment, for a completely different reason.  
  
Futher Author's Note: OK, I'm stuck. Writer's block, whatever, I'm quitting while I'm ahead. Hope you enjoyed it.  
  
If you want to help, you could always give me suggestions. Or beg me to come up with something, that might work too. 


	7. Harry's back, and now he and Draco need ...

Transcending the Bullshit, Chapter 20  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Disclaimer: Wouldn't it be great if I could STEAL them? I mean, steal Harry and Draco and the whole series? I mean, I'd be a whole lot richer than I am now... that could be awesome. I just read "Interesting Times" by Terry Pratchett-- he's an amazing author-- which is about Ghenghiz Cohen the Barbarian stealing an empire... which is a tangent, and completely unrelated, but in any event, stealing things implies not already owning them-- it's sort of a given-- and I don't own Harry or any of his cohorts. I'm sorry. And I don't own any of the Terry Pratchett characters either-- though they aren't precisely prone to fanfiction.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Warnings: Frequent shift of format, possibly shifting POV, slash, angst, masochism, now drug use/abuse, I s'pose. Did I leave out language? There's a lot of it, cause it's a text document.  
  
"OK, good, at least you aren't some type of sadistic... sadist."  
  
"No, I am some type of sadistic sadist. Just not that type."  
  
***  
  
Draco dragged Harry back to their room and blindfolded him, laughing in the sort of way that would make any sane person run away and hide. The word that comes to mind would be 'cackle'. Fortunately for them, the natural state of the human being is insanity, and instead of being frightened, Harry found himself turned on, most of the reason concerning the idea of Draco in general, or specifically, the idea of Draco doing things that would involve that sort of laughter, hopefully without any sort of mind-altering . There were words, too, among the laughter-- words like 'now, THIS is going to be something to take pictures of' and 'I'm going to PROVE that drugs are completely unnecessary to enjoy oneself'.  
  
Harry was enjoying the anticipation very much indeed. He spent an uneventful few minutes listening to Draco laugh and mutter about condensed milk, chocolate, and matches.  
  
Then the blindfold came off. There was some brown goop in a saucepan above a small ring of flames on a small three-legged stand on the sideboard. Harry blinked a few times. "What is that, exactly?"  
  
Draco sighed. "It's chocolate fondue, love," he told Harry, sucessfully managing to eliminate most of the condescending tone from his voice.  
  
"Fondue?"  
  
"Look, it's chocolate, and it's liquid, and it tastes good! What more do you need to know?" Draco said, slightly hysterical. He supposed that he had so many advantages-- mostly in the form of his stunning good looks-- that little quirks, like being easily upset, were only to be expected.  
  
Harry nodded slowly. "Sounds good to me."  
  
***  
  
Voldemort sat upon his throne, eying the hooded Death Eater before him. "Is this true, Wormtail? The son of one of my Death eaters has turned out to be..." He paused for a moment before sharing the word, spitting it out with more force and disgust than he had spat out anything before. "Queer?"  
  
"It is, my lord. I am sorry."  
  
The Dark Lord sneered. "Don't be sorry. You are one of my servants, and a servant of Lord Voldemort is never sorry. Now go and fetch the father of the abomination, and also my informant."  
  
Wormtail kowtowed in front of the man with red eyes. "My lord, it shall be as you wish."  
  
The eyes narrowed. "What are you waiting for, fool! Away!"  
  
Wormtail scuttled out of the room hurriedly before his master could curse him.  
  
***  
  
Lucius was not at the Malfoy Manor. Wormtail looked through the fireplace and found his quarry in the potions dungeon, half-naked with the Potions Master and a near-Squib Gryffindor. It was apparent, let us say, that they were not, in fact, playing Strip Exploding Snap. He sneered, and motioning with the silver   
  
hand that was a gift from his leige, transported them in front of his master. Using the same fireplace, he contacted Pansy, who rushed out of the building quickly and off the grounds to Apparate to the Riddle mansion.  
  
***  
  
When Wormtail returned, Voldemort was shaking with high-pitched laughter. "You fathered an atrocity, Lucius. You shall be punished."  
  
"My lord, he is not my son!"  
  
"What is he, then? Would you care to tell me?"  
  
"He was a Muggle-born child. I took him in because he was beautiful, and that sort of beauty deserves to be broken. Muggles are not worthy of it."  
  
"You adopted him as a plaything? A toy, while I was not in power?"  
  
"Yes, my lord."  
  
"And you did not spend your energy helping me back to power? Surely, Lucius, you would know better than that?" There was something about the way Voldemort pronounced the name that made the eldest Malfoy brace himself for pain.  
  
"I apologise, my lord. I was not thinking, my lord."  
  
"Clearly you weren't!" Another round of the chilling laughter erupted from the one known popularly as You-Know-Who. "And you allowed him school when power manifested... you are a fool, Lucius Malfoy, and you shall reap the rewards of a fool. Crucio!"  
  
The usually refined Malfoy collapsed onto the floor, writhing silently. The force behind the curse was the most he had ever felt. He was blinded by the pain, shattered into so many pieces that he could not scream.  
  
"And what of your two companions?" Voldemort sneered. "Apparently this despicable behaviour runs in the family, Lucius. Consorting with a student and a teacher under Dumbledore? Disgusting."  
  
Snape swept Neville behind him, and with a sharp flick of his wand transported him just in front of the gates of Hogwart's. Neville, quivering, ran inside and up to see the Headmaster.  
  
"Do not touch the boy, Tom," Snape spat, rather more effectively. "You now know my true allegience, but you do not know my true power."  
  
The Dark Lord sneered. "You've cracked. Crucio."  
  
The spell bounced off and hit Wormtail, who collapsed, screeching in agony.  
  
"Do you see now? Do you see what I have become? You will not touch me. You will not touch my students. What you do with Mr. Malfoy here is your descision. But you have enjoyed the last of my company." The Potions Master moved to Disapparate. Before he flickered off to the gates of Hogwart's, a booted foot lashed out and broke his leg.  
  
Voldemort sneered. "You are not invincible. No one is. You will fall, and wish you had never shown me your true colours. Now go, knowing it is only a matter of time before I come and destroy you and all those you find precious.  
  
Snape Disapparated with the Dark Lord's words echoing in his head.  
  
***  
  
Dumbledore walked into Harry and Draco's bedroom.  
  
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, if you would please join me in my office dire...." His voice trailed off when he noticed where the occupants of the room actually were.  
  
Harry was covered, between chocolate, Draco, and an intense blush that burned from his hairline to his clavicles. Draco was facing the other way. Deliberately facing the other way.  
  
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Excuse me. You shall make yourselves presentable, and you shall be in my office within a half hour. The password is sugar plum. Speed would be expedient."  
  
He hastily left, leaving one very embarrased couple or two mortified boys, depending on how you look at things. Or both.  
  
***  
  
A/N: So, what does everyone want to see in this fic? Remember when, last chapter, I said I was STUCK? Well, I need INPUT to break the slight block I'm having-- remember, reviews feed the muse-- and input informing me I'm not blocked doesn't help. Thanks so much for the sweet comments, all of you two who reviewed the last chapter.  
  
IE:  
  
Do you want to find out what exactly Snape, Neville, and Lucius are really doing?  
  
Do you want me to kill off a couple characters?  
  
Do you want me to forego the subtle approach and put a big red "REVIEW PLEASE" sign on the bottom of the fic (it seems to work, and it does make me feel wanted)?  
  
Do you want to have an extended debate concerning whether the damn button at the bottom of the page is blue or purple?  
  
Do you want me to shut up and construct my own ideas in the peace of my own mind (which isn't exactly peaceful at all)?  
  
Or... and this has crossed my mind, several times... would it be all right if I go back and rewrite the whole thing, well, at least edit it some? Remove the typos, get myself reaquainted with the plot (what little there is of it), and work it all into better, more cohesive, and LONGER, MORE DETAILED (hint, hint) chapters? What do you all think?  
  
Sorry this was such a short chapter. 


End file.
